


Tell Me a Tale of Winter and Ice

by aTasteofCaramell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Narcissa Black Malfoy, Canon Compliant, Character Study, F/M, First War with Voldemort, Implied Sexual Content, Infiltrating the Ministry for Voldemort (yay!), Lucius is a great husband (most of the time) and a nasty person (most of the time), Married Life, Narcissa and Lucius and their buddies are basically the anti-Marauders, POV Narcissa Black Malfoy, Pre-Series, Relationship Study, Romance, Slow Burn, daily updates, lucissa, some language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-14 10:46:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 60,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8010667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aTasteofCaramell/pseuds/aTasteofCaramell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People tend to forget - love does not exist solely on the side of the Good and the Light.</p><p>This is the story of Narcissa Black Malfoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is divided into three parts. Each part is divided into multiple chapters for easier reading. One chapter will be uploaded daily.
> 
> (Originally I meant this to be a 2000 word character study. That didn't work out. Obviously.)

**PART 1**

**Remember When We Were Raised in Blood?**

 

Narcissa Black was going to be the most ruthless Slytherin ever.

Narcissa Black had two older sisters: Andromeda (who, with a flick of her wand, could charm the soul out of a Dementor if she wanted to), and Bellatrix (who could consume the soul like a Dementor if she wanted to).

Bellatrix, the eldest, was the one to go to for fun. She created with the adventures, the battles, the victories. She was a hurricane, a bolt of lightning that struck fields and set them ablaze. She set fire to Narcissa's soul.

Andy was different. When she laughed, it was from wonder and not at the expense of others. She created healing balms with her words; she was a warm hug and cool water. She was the only person to whom Narcissa could give her soul and know that she would keep it safe, cherish it, fill in the cracks and polish it until it shone. More than Bellatrix, more than her father, more than her mother.

As for Narcissa Black herself: she was small and quiet, but her eyes were quick, her wand was quicker, and her mind was quickest. Narcissa Black was proud of her blood. Since her infancy she had been told of the sacredness of magic and the importance of its conservation within bloodlines.

“Apes.” Bella showed her forbidden pictures from forbidden shops. When they visited their aunt and uncle she snuck her away from their family members to point out forbidden objects through the curtains of the windows that opened on Muggle streets. “Apes, the lot of them.”

“Don’t they ever ring at the door?” Narcissa watched with wide eyes as a Muggle lad stopped at the curb in front of the house, looking around him with a bewildered expression.

“Of course not, silly.” Narcissa was one of the few people whom Bellatrix never called stupid. “There are Confundus and illusion charms all around here. Look, he’s run into one.” Bellatrix snickered as the Muggle lad stared into space, blank-eyed and slack-jawed, scratching behind one ear. “Let’s go out.”

“Go _out_?” Narcissa repeated in horror. “Out on the street?”

But Bellatix had already slipped out of the door. Narcissa glanced over her shoulder and went after her.

“Look at him,” said Bellatrix with her lip curling in disgust. “Have you ever seen such idiocy? Here,” she threw a small object into the air and caught it again. “Shall we toss this at him?”

“No!” said Narcissa immediately.

“Why not?” snickered Bellatrix. “Too soft-hearted?”

“Because we’ll get into trouble,” said Narcissa firmly. “Let’s go back inside.”

“No,” said Bellatrix casually, winding up her arm.

“ _Bella!_ ” Andromeda appeared through the doorway and grabbed her arm. “Stop it!”

Bellatrix wrenched her arm away. “Back off, Andy. It’s not like he’ll notice a difference; he already smells bad enough.”

“He doesn’t smell at all,” said Andromeda, eyes glaring and furious. “And do you think Aunt Walburga won’t care if you start throwing dungbombs on her front lawn? Leave him alone!”

Bellatrix and Andromeda grappled, ending with Andromeda drawing her wand and stinging Bellatrix’s hand so that she dropped the dungbomb. Andromeda caught it.

“I’m telling!” snarled Bellatrix, rubbing her hand. “How dare you!”

“If you tell Mum, I’ll tell her you went outside on a Muggle street,” Andromeda threatened.

Bellatrix stuck out her tongue and slouched back inside. “Come on, Cissy.”

Andromeda looked at Narcissa with sad eyes. Narcissa was quite in agreement with Andy this time, but as she wasn’t supposed to be outside either, she quickly followed the eldest Black sister inside.

“Be nice to them,” Andy said a day or so later, bending over Narcissa as she lay on her stomach looking at the moving pictures in a family photo album. “They can’t help it if they’re stupid.”

“Do whatever you like,” countered Bella as she leaned against the wall with her arms crossed. “You can’t cater to the lives of apes – we’re witches.” Narcissa wished they would stop bickering just because Andy had stopped Bella from throwing a dungbomb. She sighed and turned a page in the album.

“They’re not apes,” protested Andy.

“Well, they’re not human,” insisted Bella. “They’re like goblins, or giants, or ogres, only worse – they can’t do magic at all.”

“They’re not so different.”

“Would you _marry_ one, Andy?” said Bellatrix smugly, as if that settled the matter. You couldn’t intermarry with another species, after all.

Andy sidestepped the question. She threw a furtive glance at the door. “I’ve met one,” she whispered. “A Muggle. That one on the street at Aunt’s. He was dressed funny, but he was nice—”

“YOU TALKED TO THE MUGGLE?” Bellatrix shrieked and ran from the room.

Andy was after her like a bolt of lightning. “BELLA!”

“ANDY TALKED TO A MUGGLE! MUM! ANDY TALKED TO A MUGGLE!”

Narcissa rolled her eyes and looked back at the album. They were both being silly, though she did feel a prickle of horror at the idea of Andy standing next to and _speaking_ to the Muggle. “Muggle” was a dirty word: a poisonous word: one to be spoken in a soft or giggly voice if you were young and innocent, or in a loud and disgusted one if you were older. It was the forbidden subject reserved for political circles and Grandfather Pollux’s sideways winks and jokes that always raised mother’s ire. Why bother with a dirty word? Narcissa preferred to study the _Pureblood Directory_ and plan her life accordingly.

Distant shouts from their mother.

“It wasn’t on purpose,” sobbed Andy.

_"Don_ _’t you know what it would do to our family reputation if my daughters were seen associating with_ _—"_

“We weren’t seen, it was just for a minute, I was outside and he’d gotten lost and asked me for directions—he’d run into a Confundus charm and was very bewildered—I was just helping him go away and get back home—”

_"That_ _’s what the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee is for!"_

Andy walked about for days afterwards with red eyes and a sulky expression. Bella looked rather self-satisfied. “Andy’s too much of a pushover, Cissy,” she said wisely. “She’ll listen to anybody if they’ll be nice to her. We have to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself.”

Both Bellatrix and Andy got shouted it at fairly regularly—though Andy bore the brunt of it. Narcissa was rarely criticized by her parents. Not because she was babied, but because there wasn't much in her to criticize. She was born sophisticated and with the innate soul of a cold, pureblood aristocrat.

Bellatrix continued Narcissa’s education on family matters in the Painting Room, where their family tree was animated on all four walls. (Such a room was a Black tradition. Their cousins had a similar room, but it was of tapestries, and it was not animated.) Portraits waved out at them and the leaves fluttered in invisible breezes. Bellatrix had her arm around Narcissa, holding her so close that their cheeks touched when they bent close to examine a name near the baseboards.

“These are the untainted ones,” said Bella, even though Narcissa already knew. “We’ll marry into one of the Twenty-Eight families, though of course we have to watch out for blood traitors—Cedrella,” Bella ran her finger along the branches to a portrait that had been covered with black paint. “She’s our 1st cousin, twice removed—she married a Weasley and they’re blood traitors—Great Great Grandmother Iola actually _mated_ with a Muggle—”

“Eugh,” said Narcissa, shuddering.

“Married,” interrupted Andy as she passed through the room with a disdainful look on her face.

“Mated,” repeated Bellatrix. “You can’t marry a Muggle.”

“What about muggle-borns?” asked Andy innocently.

“Mudbloods have magic, but they’re not like us,” said Narcissa helpfully. “You know that, Andy.”

“Apes beget apes,” said Bella. “So what if they’re a little more human than normal?”

“Lots of wizards disagree, you know,” said Andy. “There are tons of people talking about it. They say—”

“Numbers don’t matter,” snarled Bellatrix. “Ants can collectively decide it’s right for them to build their nests in your bedroom but that doesn’t mean they should or can—we have the power, we have the money, we have the magic, we make the rules. Money and power— _we_ are the influential, _we_ are the ones who are right.” She rounded suddenly on Andy. “How do you know what they say, anyway? Are you listening to Muggle Rights radio again?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bella,” said Andy in a smug voice that betrayed she knew exactly what Bellatrix was talking about, but Bellatrix didn’t have any proof, so she couldn’t do anything about it. And Andy swept from the room, somehow making her scrawny ten-year-old limbs look majestic, with just a hint of swagger.

“Poor Andy,” said Bellatrix with eyes like fire. “We’re going to have to stop her, Cissy. How are we going to stop her?”

Narcissa didn't have an answer. She looked at the family tree again. “I’m going to marry someone very wealthy and very powerful. And handsome,” she added as an afterthought.

Bellatrix laughed. “Wealth and power – if you can get that, who cares what he looks like?”

*

When Narcissa Black was eleven, Andromeda was fourteen and Bellatrix was fifteen. Bellatrix showed her and the other first-years the common room her first night at Hogwarts, highlighting the windows to the lake and telling them excitedly that mermaids (“Real MERMAIDS, Cissy!”) lived in the lake. But because it was Bellatrix, Narcissa wasn’t fooled and when the skeletal, fish-like merpeople slapped up against the windows with their spears Narcissa Black just stood calmly at the glass, hands behind her back. The rest of the first-years jumped back and screamed and Bellatrix’s laugh rang through the room and Andromeda passed with an exasperated, “ _Honestly_ , Bella.”

And Bellatrix grinned and said, “Come on, Cissy,” and showed her to her room.

*

It was Halloween night of her first year when Narcissa Black first properly saw Lucius Malfoy. She had spent the first two months quietly watching her fellow first-years, both in Slytherin and in the other houses, and making sure she understood her assignments for each class perfectly. She needed to know how people thought, and where people stood. That was how she knew where to insert herself into society.

But on Halloween night Narcissa Black already understood her immediate classmates and there was raucous laughter coming from further up the table. She sat very straight with her pumpkin juice goblet exactly one inch above her dinner knife and her silver fork in hand. She leaned over ever so slightly and looked down the table. And there was a boy with shining blond hair slicked back from his forehead. He stood on the bench, one knee bent, one hand in his robes, the other gesturing in the air. He was talking about the upcoming Quidditch match, and Narcissa realized that it was the Quidditch team that was sitting in front of him, on the other side of the table. The speech was eloquent, it was inspiring, and it made everybody laugh—it sounded like a speech that would be given by a fifteen-year-old at least; this boy didn't look much older than herself. At the end of the boy's oratory, saluting Slytherin’s undeniable upcoming victory, the hand in his robes withdrew his wand and with a flourish he sent up a firework of sparks that formed a moving, hissing snake before it rained down like confetti over the pudding. The whole table burst into applause and the boy sat down amid many shoulder- and back-pattings with a serene smile that quirked to one side of his mouth.

“Who is that?” Narcissa Black whispered to her closest acquaintance, Lillian Burke, who could be counted on to know these sorts of things.

“That’s Lucius Malfoy,” sighed Lillian, propping her head on her hand and gazing at Lucius Malfoy with doe eyes. “He’s a second-year.”

Narcissa Black looked over at the Gryffindor table. They looked rather sour.

*

Narcissa Black was twelve and studying in the library with Andromeda, who was taking her OWLs that year. Despite her extreme business and stress, she willingly put down her work when Narcissa whispered questions to her about a particularly difficult lesson. She patiently demonstrated the engorgement charm over and over as Narcissa scribbled pages upon pages of notes in the little leather study book that Andromeda had given her until Narcissa could perform the charm herself. In the midst of this session, Bellatrix came skipping in not to study with them but to say in a not-at-all-quiet voice and with a not-at-all-quiet laugh, “Do you know who just invited me to go to Slughorn’s Christmas party with him?”

“Shh,” said Andromeda, pushing aside her own notes for the fifteenth time and brushing hair back from her eyes as she gave Bellatrix her full attention. “Who?”

Bellatrix squatted near the floor and in only a slightly-quieter voice said, “Lucius Malfoy!” and she started laughing again.

“You didn’t say yes, did you?” said Andromeda, sounding very surprised.

“Of course I did,” said Bellatrix. “He’s so horrendously funny, asking me when he’s only thirteen! Came up and bowed, promised to pick me up and walk me there and everything. I couldn’t turn him down after that.”

Narcissa Black turned the page in her book and wrote another note in her leather study-book and pretended she hadn’t heard.

*

Narcissa Black was admired by many, surrounded by girls in her year and below at all times, but she did not have any friends. She had many people she was loyal to, and that were loyal to her, and she thought that’s all that friends were. Friends, she thought, were the people she watched, understood, and spoke to carefully until they reached an agreement. She knew how people felt; she knew the right words to say, the right gestures to make, when to smile, when to scowl, but she felt like all of her fellow students were pretty silly. She felt affection for them – especially the simpletons, like Lillian Burke and Mattie Shafiq (an over-eager, excitable student a year below herself)—but she did not let them in. She was a Black, and that meant she was superior, as her mother had told her over and over. And so her private soul remained private, a carefully packaged gift that she kept to herself and to Andy. She didn’t know she was doing it, and she didn’t know that if it weren't for Andy, who held her soul carefully and washed it clean, she would be extremely unhappy.

The rest of the school didn't know it either, with the possible exception of Andromeda Black.

Narcissa Black was _sophisticated_. Narcissa Black had _natural_ exquisite blonde hair when the rest of her family was dark. Narcissa Black earned good marks and was never upset by muggle-borns and half-bloods; she only looked at them with disdain and turned away. In her world, they did not exist. Her insults disguised as dry comments made everybody laugh. Narcissa Black was only too willing to give calm advice to naturally awkward girls on how to hold themselves up, but they never quite achieved her rank. Narcissa Black had the perfect smile for her followers and the perfect look of repulsion for those whose bloodlines did not line up to her standards.

Narcissa Black hugged her leather-bound notebook to her chest and looked with concern and discomfort at Andy when she passed surrounded by her friends of tainted blood, laughing and chattering. Narcissa crept after these gutter-rats in the hall, setting traps and sending the strongest jinxes she could muster in their direction. But it didn't do any good--they were weaving their slimy tendrils around Andy's ankles and dragging her down, and she was too kind to realize it was happening.

*

Narcissa Black was not ashamed to ask for help with her schoolwork, but she only asked for help from worthy people.

“Please, Andromeda, I don’t understand this charm.”

“Professor, could you go over that potion with me please?”

“Bellatrix, the half-blood insulted Lillian again. Teach me that hex you used last year, would you? It’s time he lost a week in the hospital wing.”

*

Andy was distraught; one of her gutter-rats had had a severe allergic reaction to they didn't know what and had to live out the rest of the year in St Mungo's, just to be sure. Narcissa Black was horrified, and she spent hours that night in the corner of the abandoned common room with her arms around her legs, her forehead pressed against her knees, rocking and rocking and rocking. Andy somehow knew she was down there, and she came and begged Narcissa to tell her what was wrong. Narcissa shook her head and told a half-fictional story about loneliness, and Andy tried to comfort her.

And Narcissa only half-listened, as she thought about the face of the mudblood who had gone to the hospital wing, and wondered what would happen if anybody decided to search her wand and found the dark magic there.

But she was not sorry.

*

In Narcissa Black’s second and third years, and Bellatrix’s sixth and seventh, Bellatrix began to invite her to hang out with her friends. Bellatrix was surrounded by a group of influential Slytherins that was made up of several people, but the primary members were the LeStrange brothers, Travers, Selwyn, and Lucius Malfoy. They hung about in the common room, practicing hexes, laughing and talking. A favorite subject, one that was always treated with reverence and awe and the deepest respect, was the rise of the Lord Voldemort. Lucius Malfoy liked to take up one couch by himself, laying on his back with one leg crossed over the other and one hand behind his head, flicking his wand about lazily, generally blowing apart teacups and other small objects and then repairing them before the shards hit the ground.

“This is only temporary,” he said of his wand once, turning his head to address Travers. “When I inherit Malfoy Manor I’ll also inherit an extremely ancient wand, over a thousand years old. It was created for the Malfoys especially, but it’s so old we’ve lost the name of the original owner. It never really chose my father, but I expect it’ll choose me.”

Lillian Burke, when she could, squeezed into these circles, claiming to want to spend time with Narcissa but only having eyes for Lucius. “Narcissa,” she whispered one night when they were in their beds. They were thirteen, which meant Lucius was fourteen. “What do I do? How do I get him to notice me? You understand boys, surely.”

Narcissa had very little patience for this sort of talk. Romance, as far as she was concerned, was simply a political and cultural ritual. And she had no desire to pass on any of her knowledge of the ritual to Lillian, who was a bit of an airhead. “Tell him,” she said curtly, turning over on her side to signal the end of the conversation.

And the next week, eyes bright and cheeks flushed, Lillian went up to Lucius as he sat on his normal couch, his back propped up against the arm and new black, dragon-skin boots on his feet. He was practicing a complicated charm that wove feathers in and out of each other in a magical dance in midair.

“Lucius,” said Lillian breathlessly. “Do you remember me?”

Lucius glanced very briefly in her direction before returning his gaze to his feathers. “Lillian Burke.” Lillian beamed and she made eye contact with Narcissa, who was holding an open newspaper in front of her face and pretending not to watch. _He knows my name!_ she mouthed at Narcissa. Narcissa raised her eyebrows.

“You’re very good at that,” Lillian purred. “I think you’re the most talented boy in your year – no, in Slytherin – no, in all of Hogwarts!”

“Thank you,” said Lucius, with that one corner of his mouth quirking.

Lillian blushed furiously. “I like you a lot.”

“Do you?” said Lucius in a distracted way. “That’s nice.” He flung his wand up and the feathers arched in a long line, then dive-bombed Lucius’s face. But before reaching it, they spun into a very tight spiral and disappeared with a crack. Narcissa thought Lucius's response was very unsatisfactory, but Lillian clamped her hands to her mouth and looked like she might have a fit and pass out from pure joy. Narcissa hid behind her newspaper.

“He didn’t reject me!” Lillian squealed to Narcissa in their room. “That means he must like me too, right?”

Narcissa doubted that he particularly liked Lillian, based on the unconcerned look on his face and nonchalant answer, but she shrugged and said, “He doesn’t dislike you, anyway.”

Lillian took to following Lucius around whenever she could, which was mainly at mealtimes and in the evenings. She either smiled at him adoringly or gibbered nonsensically. Lucius smiled at her a good deal, but Narcissa thought it was a rather pacifying smile. He was always polite, never told her off or seemed annoyed, thanked her gravely for her compliments and even bestowed a few of his own when appropriate. “Is that a new pin?” he asked her one day when she sprang up from the table at breakfast and ran over to sit beside him as he took a seat. She blushed and nodded and fingered the serpentine pin on her robes. “I like it, good choice.”

In the evenings, Lillian delighted in sitting on the floor, her arms and chin propped up on the couch seat or arm, begging him to show her pieces of his skilled spellwork. “Do the birds again, Lucius,” she simpered. Narcissa, her head again behind her newspaper, ignored them both. That is, until something tore at her paper. Narcissa jumped and looked up. A miniature bluebird clambered to sit on the edge of the paper, twittering. She frowned and lowered the paper.

“Whoops,” said Lucius, grinning. He summoned the bird back and snatched it out of the air. When he opened his hand a marble sat in his palm. Lillian giggled and cheered and clapped her hands.

*

Andromeda showed Narcissa the Astronomy tower at night, and how you could lean out of the windows and brace yourself against the railings and feel like you were floating on air while you looked up at the stars. They had whispered conversations there in the cool of the night.

“I saw you talking to Lucius Malfoy the other day.”

“We didn’t talk. I said hello. He said hello back.”

“He seems nice. Always in command of the common room.”

“He has nice boots.”

“Yes, nice boots. But he is a bit of an arrogant sod.”

Narcissa thought about this. “I’m a bit of an arrogant sod.”

Andy laughed. “No you’re not, Cis.” Narcissa didn’t bother correcting her. “What do you think about him?”

Narcissa shrugged. “He’s popular,” was her answer.

*

It was late in Narcissa Black’s third year before Lucius Malfoy properly saw her.

Narcissa had worked for two hours with Andromeda on a particularly difficult Charms homework assignment, and then she had read the newspaper. But Lucius Malfoy, for once, sat and did not command all the attention of the room. Instead he abandoned his normal, central couch and sat to one side of the fire, almost exactly across from her, watching his friends Selwyn and Travers re-enact a particularly amusing tussle between the Slytherin Quidditch team and the Hufflepuffs, with a vague smile on his face. Narcissa thought his eyes were maybe a little red, but that could have just been the reflection of the fire. Lillian had given up trying to get Lucius to perform charms or talk to her, and so had gone off in a huff with Mattie Shafiq. The common room gradually emptied. At last, with a sigh, Lucius Malfoy slumped down, feet outstretched, and stared into the fire.

Narcissa Black watched him for several long minutes, then she lowered the paper to her lap with a rustling sound. Lucius Malfoy glanced up and they looked at each other. Then Narcissa said, feeling blood pounding in her cheeks, “I’m sorry about your mother.”

Lucius’s eyes widened a bit, and he stared curiously at her. After another moment he said, “Thank you,” then he stood up quickly and went to the boys’ dormitory. Narcissa put the paper on the table, her heart beating very fast. A small headline on the paper read, **_Mrs. Abraxas Malfoy Sudden Death._**

*

Right before finals week in Narcissa Black’s third year and Bellatrix’s seventh, Narcissa took her books to the empty classroom that Andromeda often used for studying and stopped dead at the sounds of furious shouting coming from inside.

“I don’t see why you’re so upset, Bella!”

“Because _you_ are becoming an embarrassment, that’s why!”

“I will choose my own friends, Bella, and you can choose yours.”

“Look at Cissy. Even she knows to keep better company than you do.”

“My friends are wizards.”

“Your friends are _Mudbloods_!”

“Some of them are.  And some of them are half-bloods, and some of them are purebloods. What’s it to you?”

“When I’m gone, there won’t be someone around to cover up for you—or are you going to force that responsibility on Cissy?”

Narcissa Black slipped into the shadows, ears ringing. She’d assumed that half-bloods and Mudbloods stayed around Andromeda because she was simply too soft-spoken and gentle-eyed to drive them away. But to hear her sisters tell it, Andy was encouraging the contact. Narcissa Black didn’t know what to think. She twisted her hands and swallowed the knots in her throat.

She entered the classroom after Bellatrix had left and began to study next to her sister, pouring through her notes in the last few pages of her leather study book, trying to act as though nothing had happened.

“Narcissa,” said Andy at last. “What would you do if I stayed friends with Muggle-borns forever?”

“Well,” Narcissa turned a page in her book, her soul suddenly hurting. “I suppose we’d have to disown you.”

*

“Cissy,” said Bellatrix on September 1st 1969, the first day of Narcissa’s fourth year, before they left for the station. “Look after Andromeda, will you? Try to get her involved in my friend group – the ones that haven’t graduated, all right?”

“Of course, Bella,” said Narcissa Black. “I’m not going to let our sister run off with Mudbloods and hurt herself.” She paused. “You’re going to go join Lord Voldemort, aren’t you?”

Bellatrix was surprised, and impressed.

*

Narcissa Black was fourteen before she properly met Lucius Malfoy. He was the new prefect, and Narcissa Black noted how well situated the badge was on his shiny new robes and how he had grown up and his hair had grown out over the summer; it was past his shoulders, and still gleaming. He walked up and down the table during the great feast, taking time to eat with the different years (even the ones above him), especially the first-years. He assured them all that they could come to him with any questions and look up to him for any answers. He flattered the sixth- and seventh- year girls until they giggled (Andromeda was deep in conversation with another studious girl and they paid him no mind) and the sixth- and seventh-year boys laughed. He bowed to the first-year girls and shook the hands of the first-year boys and made them all feel like full-grown wizards and proud Slytherins and they hadn’t even had their first lessons.

He sat down on the opposite side of the table where the fourth-years were sitting. Lillian Burke immediately began blushing and sidled closer to him, pushing several others out of her way until Lucius noticed her and said, “Oh, hello, Lillian.” Narcissa Black watched him the entire time he stayed there, his legs crossed, his fingers drumming on the table, gallantly taking compliments, and dispelling rumors that he was going to be on the Quidditch team this year (“I really am focused on more political pursuits”). He looked at Narcissa and smiled. Narcissa Black waited for a brief pause in the conversation and then asked, “How do you become a prefect?”

“Looking to get the job next year?” asked Lucius. “Be sure to befriend your professors, work hard in class, and show yourself to be a leader among your peers and beyond.”

In the common room that night, as Narcissa Black sat reading the newspaper as usual, Lucius Malfoy completed the walking tour for the first-years and he sat down in the chair next to her. She stared at the page, not reading, and waited for him to speak first.

“You’re Bellatrix’s little sister, aren’t you? Narcissa?”

She put down the paper and looked at him. “That’s right.”

He stood up and gave a little bow. “I’m Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy.”

Narcissa let him see her smile. She remained seated but extended her hand. She was going to shake his hand, but he instead kissed hers, bowing and flaring his cloak back with his free hand as he did so. Narcissa was positive he was doing it for dramatic emphasis, but it looked entirely coincidental and natural. She waited for him to look up again before she said, still smiling politely, “I know.”

Lucius smiled back. His little sideways quirk of the mouth was still there, but less evident. Narcissa would have bet several Galleons that he practiced in the mirror. “We’re gathering in the old Potions classroom to talk after class tomorrow,” he said. “You should come.”

“I’ll be there,” said Narcissa.

*

“You should come with me so I am not by myself,” said Narcissa to Andromeda the next day.

Andromeda frowned, looking at her suspiciously. “You are afraid of going by yourself?”

“No,” said Narcissa. “I want you to become more attached to purebloods so you stop spending time with half-bloods and Muggle-borns.”

Andromeda’s frown deepened, but she came, and she didn’t say anything while the group debated about who was in Lord Voldemort’s inner circle and who wasn’t and what his next move was going to be. Narcissa didn’t say anything either, but for the first time she sat as part of the group and not part of Bellatrix’s shadow, listening and watching. Lucius Malfoy was not the oldest in the group, but he was the center, and when he spoke everybody listened.

*

In December, over lunch, Lucius Malfoy slid onto the bench opposite her in the Great Hall. Narcissa Black politely set down her quill and looked at him.

“Hello, Black.”

“Hello, Malfoy.”

“I heard you got Leonard Sullivan twenty hours of detention in Charms yesterday.”

“He was cheating,” said Narcissa Black. “Penelope Thomas was sending him notes under the desk during our midterm. And he had the nerve to claim that he, as a Muggle-born, had more natural talent than all of the purebloods in the rest of Gryffindor house.” She didn't mention that he was also a leech attached to Andy.

Lucius Malfoy looked impressed.

*

Just before the winter holidays, Slughorn had another Christmas Party. Lucius Malfoy did not ask Narcissa Black to come with him.

He did ask Georgia Parkinson. Lillian Burke was crushed.

*

The Slytherin Political Club (as it had unofficially been dubbed) had a long, intense, three-hour meeting over the Easter Holidays. There had just been a savage attack on several well-known families of mixed blood. Nobody seemed to know who had done it for certain, but everybody seemed to know who was responsible.

“What’s going to happen now?” was the question of the day, and everybody argued for a long time.

“Isn’t it obvious?” said Narcissa Black at last, and she spoke so seldom that everybody stopped instantly and turned to look at her with expressions of surprise. She waited, looking at each one of their faces in turn. Then she said, “He’s going to declare himself our new Lord and start a revolution against the Ministry.” She folded her hands in her lap and smiled politely.

The other Slytherins looked impressed at her confidence and guts in making such a bold declaration, if not entirely convinced. Lucius Malfoy had a very peculiar look on his face.

*

Narcissa slipped out of the castle, tucking her scarf into her coat as she hurried down the hill. She was escaping the presence of Mattie Shafiq, the overly-enthusiastic third-year who had decided to dog her every footstep. Normally Narcissa was very gracious and tolerant of her fans, but Mattie giggled too much and demanded too much attention, instead of just staring attentively and shyly making requests. So Narcissa headed across the snow-covered hills to the Quidditch field. It was not where she spent much time normally, so it was the ideal hiding place. She climbed up to the long lines of empty, wooden seats, ducking her head as a Slytherin player whizzed over her head and went into an impressive dive. She stood there with her hands in her pockets and her scarf over her mouth watching the team practice.

“Black?”

Narcissa caught her breath and turned. Lucius Malfoy was sitting a small space away. He had propped his feet up on the bench below and leaned against the bench above, smiling at her. The wind stung her face and Narcissa felt herself inexplicably blushing. Lucius’s hair poked out from under his hat and stuck to his coat via static electricity.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Narcissa’s mouth felt sticky and stiff. “Hello,” she managed, voice muffled behind her scarf. _What_ _’s wrong with me?_

Lucius sat up. “Want to sit down?”

Narcissa walked over and sat down next to him. She regained her composure and pulled down her scarf. “What are you doing here?”

Lucius nodded at the Quidditch team, which had landed and were conversing in a circle. “Laughalot wanted me here. Moral support, I guess. Wants me to speak to the team. We’ll need to dominate Ravenclaw to get over the loss to Gryffindor.”

“But you don’t play Quidditch,” said Narcissa.

Lucius looked offended. “That doesn’t mean I don’t know anything about it.” He leaned back against the upper bench as before.

“No, of course,” said Narcissa quickly, looking away as she flushed again, pretending to be interested in the Quidditch team as they rose into the air to practice another play. She resolved to keep her mouth shut and leave as soon as was socially acceptable, but Lucius ruined those plans by continuing the conversation.

“So what brings you to the Quidditch field today, Miss Black?”

Narcissa nibbled the inside of her lower lip. “I wanted some time alone.”

“…oh.”

She grimaced and turned, “No, I didn’t mean – I wanted time away from my friends.”

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “Oh.”

Narcissa’s face flamed. Any snow falling from the sky would have sizzled against her skin. Mortified, she stuttered, “Not that you’re not—I mean—oh, Merlin.” She gave up and put her face in her hands. To her astonishment and anger, Lucius laughed.

“I’ve never seen you embarrassed before, Black.”

“I’m not embarrassed!” she said hotly from behind her gloves.

“No, of course you’re not. Look, Gamp’s spotted the snitch.”

Narcissa peeked through her fingers and watched Gamp dive. He wobbled and spun and nearly crashed. He pulled himself up in time, but then promptly somersaulted in the air and fell off his broom.

“There’s the problem,” sighed Lucius. “That’s why we’re not winning the Cup this year. Our Seeker can’t catch the Snitch even in practice….don’t tell them I said that. I’m supposed to encourage them, not tell them they’re hopeless.”

Narcissa lowered her hands to her chin, but she refused to look at Lucius for several more minutes. He kept up a running commentary under his breath. “They ought to just put him out of the way—be a Beater, maybe—Fawley’s good enough to protect the Seeker by himself, and if everybody else just dodges—what’s the likelihood—” He sat up. Narcissa glanced at him as he pulled off his gloves and removed what looked like a pocket watch from his coat pocket. He opened it and twisted several knobs and gears, peering at the insides.

“It’s a probability calculator,” he said without looking at her. He shook his head, snapped it shut, and put it back in his pocket. “I don’t think even switching Gamp to Beater would help.”

“You could join,” Narcissa said without thinking. “They’d let you.”

“No,” said Lucius. He leaned his chin on his clasped hands, eyes moving back and forth, following Gamp. “It really isn’t my area.”

“Why not?” asked Narcissa. “You look athletic enough.” She bit her tongue and mentally slapped herself. Lucius didn’t seem to notice she’d said anything potentially suggestive.

“Thanks. But no. Making last-minute switches wouldn’t help morale, and with Gamp it’s really just a confidence issue. Besides, I haven’t been working with them all year. I’d just be in their way. I’m busy with other things anyway. There’s a network of interested parties sending news back and forth about Lord Voldemort—things that the Daily Prophet won’t print.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I can get you on it if you want.”

“Yes, please.” She was looking at him unashamedly now, unaware of her own staring. Similarly unaware, Lucius continued to frown at the Quidditch field. Narcissa realized what she was doing when he sat up straight again and she quickly looked away. Her gaze fell on his hand as it rested in his lap, still gloveless. On the fourth finger of his right hand he wore a silver ring. In its center was a delicately engraved serpent.

Lucius glanced at her, then down at his hand. “It’s an heirloom,” he said, holding it up for her inspection. “My father gave it to me. We’ve been in Slytherin for centuries, you know.”

“It’s lovely,” said Narcissa. “Will you be giving it to your own son, then? If you have one?”

“Naturally,” said Lucius. “And I had better have one. I’m the only Malfoy heir.”

“That’s right,” said Narcissa thoughtfully. “You’re an only child, aren’t you?”

Lucius put his gloves back on, looking at her, puzzled. “How do you know that?”

“I study the Twenty-Eight family trees,” she said. “It’s a hobby of mine.”

“Oh,” he studied her. “Blood purity is important to you then?”

“Of course.” It was Narcissa’s turn to look offended.

“Do you have any brothers?”

“No,” said Narcissa. “But I have two cousins – Regulus and Sirius – so we don’t have to worry about Black dying out just yet.”

“That’s good.” Lucius’s gaze went back to the Quidditch team. “Laughalot’s waving at me. Time for me to go work some magic—know any spells for Instantly-Improved-Seeker?”

Narcissa laughed.

*

It was the last day of fourth year, exams were over, and Narcissa Black walked in on Andromeda Black and Edward Tonks kissing in an empty classroom. They did not hear her, and they did not see her, so she stood watching, and then turned around and went to her dormitory. Everyone was outside. She returned to the common room a moment later with a little leather study book in her hand.

Lucius Malfoy entered, saw her, and immediately put down his bag. “Narcissa? What’s wrong?”

Narcissa Black just shook her head. She went to the fire and, her insides shaking, placed the book in the flames. She stood and watched it slowly burn. Lucius came and stood beside her, saying nothing. When it was thoroughly scorched and the pages were ashes, Narcissa Black said, “I just lost my sister.” And inside she felt a scathing rage that heated the wrenching grief hidden behind her eyes.

Lucius Malfoy put a hand on her shoulder.

*

Narcissa Black was fifteen when she turned beautiful. She was slender, and beautiful, and cold.

That summer, Lord Voldemort proclaimed himself the Dark Lord and began a revolution against the ministry. Narcissa read the news in the paper, but even if she hadn’t she would have found out that same day because an owl came from the Malfoys.

_Black,_ the letter read. _You were right. He_ _’s begun._

The letter ran for a whole page, and then ended with,

_If you want, you can spend the rest of the holidays at our manor. Rabastan Lestrange, along with Travers and Selwyn, will be there. My father has connections, and we_ _’re watching the events unfold as they happen._

She couldn’t, though, because she had to stay for Bellatrix’s wedding. Lucius seemed to have forgotten in his excitement that the reason Rodolphus LeStrange couldn’t come to his manor with Rabastan was the same reason that Narcissa could not.

Bellatrix practically pranced the entire day of her wedding, but her eyes were lit with a fiery passion that had nothing to do with her new husband.

“I’ve met him, Cissy,” she whispered fiercely when she had the snatch of a chance. “I’ve met the Dark Lord.”

Narcissa learned much later that Andromeda and that Mudblood had also gotten married that summer. They sent a letter, but Cygnus, their father, destroyed it after reading its contents. He simply ordered everyone who had not already done so to dissociate from Andromeda. He did not tell them why.

Narcissa had not spoken to Andromeda since she had seen her kissing Tonks. But that day Narcissa locked herself in her room and raged until her cheeks were soaked and her pillow was torn and her wand had left scorch marks in the ceiling for the house-elves to repair and she had extracted a promise from herself to never cry about Andy again.

When she left her room, she had the beginnings of an impenetrable shell wrapped around her lonely and aching soul.


	2. Chapter 2

**PART 1 (continued)**

Narcissa Black was not made a prefect during her fifth year, and so she remained in a train compartment on the ride to Hogwarts. She began studying for her first classes, looking over her new textbooks while Mattie Shafiq chatted about her summer, and so Narcissa did not notice when Lucius Malfoy appeared outside her compartment windows while patrolling the corridors. She did not notice the way he stopped short, cool smile disappearing, and stood staring and uncharacteristically dumb. She did not notice the way he reached out to take hold of the handle of the door to her compartment, and then hesitated. She did not notice the way he suddenly seemed to lose his nerve, drawing back his hand quickly as though he’d been burnt and hurrying onward. And because she did not notice all this, she did not recognize the significance of the way he managed to greet her completely normally in the Hogwarts main courtyard later, with a grin and a hand-clasp and a casual “Hello, Black. How was the wedding?”

“Hello, Malfoy,” answered Narcissa with a touch of frostiness. “Very nice. How was your summer?” She didn’t mean to be cold, but seeing him for the first time unexpectedly made a bundle of nerves in her stomach ignite and acting chilly was the quickest way to put out the flames. He’d grown taller over the past months, and the way he had moved across the room towards her was somehow elegant, almost kingly. His new robes were of high-quality highly-threaded cloth that shimmered, and the way he wore them made them look like dress robes.

Lucius regarded with her a slight frown. His polite answer to her question and subsequent additional question (“What do you think about the giant attack that took place last week?”) made her smile, and so the strange coldness between them dissolved and they spoke together intensely about what was looking to shape up to be a genuine war until Headmaster Dumbledore asked for silence.

Because Narcissa Black was not made a prefect, she found plenty of time to study for her OWLs and work with the Slytherin Political Club. They were students and could not help Lord Voldemort directly, but they could spread his ideas quietly. There had never in the entire history of Hogwarts been so many half-bloods and Muggle-borns receiving detention and suspension and losing House points.

Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black could be seen walking the same hallways, receiving the same mail and reading the same letter at once. The tabloids they read were never left out where a professor might find them. Occasionally Travers or Selwyn or Lestrange joined them, and when that occurred they turned their heads simultaneously and took turns explaining the most recent news. They sat together at meal times, foreheads nearly touching as they poured over dubious magazines, glancing up occasionally at particular students and murmuring to each other. (That is, unless Georgia Parkinson sat with Lucius Malfoy. Then Narcissa Black sat with her female companions, glancing frequently down the table at the pair of them.)

That year, if you spoke ill of purebloods or Voldemort or Slytherin house and turned to see Lucius Malfoy watching you, you knew you were doomed. But if you turned to see Narcissa Black watching you, you knew you were about to be slaughtered with cold hatred. And then, somehow, inexplicably without fail, you would break one rule or another (in a situation somehow woven by Lucius Malfoy), and one of Narcissa Black’s admirers would catch you in the act.

Nobody could speak about the brutal, seemingly legal targeting of non-purebloods, because nobody had any proof, but everybody knew that the club was behind it. Everybody in the club was helping, but Narcissa and Lucius were extremely good at it. Narcissa Black did not know Lucius Malfoy’s motivations, but whenever she looked at those with tainted blood all she could see were the ones who had taken her sister. And whenever she looked at Lucius Malfoy, she noticed how he dressed and how he spoke and how he smiled. And he noticed how she moved and how she looked at her inferiors with disdain. Lillian Burke’s infatuation did not diminish, but she became frustrated with Lucius’s lackluster attention and so she started going out with Selwyn, trying (and failing) to make Lucius jealous. She poured out her frustrations to Narcissa at night and Narcissa did her best to pretend to care.

Georgia Parkinson took Lillian’s place at Lucius’s side, but she (to Narcissa’s annoyance) was more sensible.  And Narcissa Black was motivated to take long walks around the Hogwarts grounds and buy the very best of hair-softening potions and she went up and down the castle stairs for extra exercise in the evening and her already-slim figure hardened and became stronger as she continued to grow taller. But if anybody had cared to ask her why she did this, she could not have told them.

*

In December, a slightly nervous Slughorn threw another Christmas Party. Lucius Malfoy did not ask Narcissa Black to come with him. Travers did. She said no.

*

“Black—oi, Black!” Narcissa turned as Lucius strode up, pointing his wand over his shoulder with his trunks levitating behind him.

“The carriages are about to leave,” she informed him. She was not going home for the Easter Holidays, preferring to stay and study for her rapidly upcoming O.W.L.s.

“I know. I’ve decided I want you to write your father and ask something for me.” The chilly wind whipped both of their cloaks around them. Narcissa arched her eyebrows, encouraging him to continue. “I want to invite you to come out to Provence, France with me and the others over the summer.”

Narcissa’s heart jumped but she shook her head. “I can’t go on holiday with just you, Lestrange, Travers, and Selwyn. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“I know,” said Lucius hastily. “I’ve also invited Georgia Parkinson and Lillian Burke, and of course your parents and cousins are welcome as well.”

“Really?” Narcissa was surprised.

When she didn’t say anything else, Lucius prompted, “It’s at the Lac de Castillon, completely surrounded by the Alps, the bluest, clearest water you could ever see. Completely private and accessible only by invitation or reservation of the families of the highest class.”

Narcissa stifled a smile. “Well, I don’t know if he’ll let me, but I’ll ask him.”

*

Narcissa wasn’t quite sure what she had expected when they arrived by train in the French town of Saint-Julien-du-Verdon, but it wasn’t an entourage of smartly dressed gentlemen who bowed and waved their hands and encouraged the Blacks to follow them “just right this way” as they passed through a Muggle-proof roped-off section of the station.

“Just what you’d expect from the Malfoys,” huffed Narcissa's father, Cygnus, under his breath as they emerged outside and climbed into elegant black carriages with gold trim. “Any chance they get to show off.” Narcissa looked away so he wouldn’t see the incredulous look on her face. Jealousy was the real reason for his irritation. If they had been related in any close way to the Malfoys he would be relishing in the special treatment.

“Don’t be rude, Cygnus,” scolded Druella, Narcissa's mother. “The Malfoys invited us, it’s only right that they treat us well.”

“Not as though they owned the mountain range,” grumbled Cygnus, but he looked slightly more cheerful.

_“They practically do._ _”_ Narcissa moved her lips silently; she’d learned at a very young age that it was useless to contradict her father in any way, unless she wanted to cause trouble (which she definitely did not on this occasion). Only Druella had the privilege of contradiction. She was the only one who could correct Cygnus without him becoming even more obstinate.

The carriage left them at a gorgeous cottage that had the illusion of being rustic. Once inside there was every luxury available that a wizard or witch could hope for. Scarcely two hours after their arrival, a loud and eager knocking sounded on the door. Narcissa hurried to answer it, smoothing back her hair and beaming. But when she swung the door open it was Lillian who pounced on her, squeezing her in a hug.

“Narcissa,” she gushed. “Isn’t it wonderful? Isn’t it beautiful? So good of Lucius to invite us – I spent the morning with him – shame he also invited Parkinson, she’s so dull…”

Narcissa swallowed her disappointment and extracted herself from Lillian’s arms. “Yes, very nice,” she said distractedly as she looked over her friend’s shoulder as if expecting to see the aforementioned Lucius standing on the road looking up at them. But he did not appear until the next day, and that was only briefly to extend a personal invitation to come to lunch at the Malfoy cottage. He shook hands with Cygnus, bowed to and kissed the hand of Druella, and nodded at Narcissa before leaving.

“He’s a nice boy,” said Druella thoughtfully.

“He’s going out with Georgia Parkinson,” said Narcissa.

They were not the only guests at lunch. Lucius and his father, Abraxas, welcomed all of the invitees to a sunny, outdoor terrace– the Blacks, Travers, Selwyn and his father, Lestrange, Lillian, and Georgia and her mother. Travers immediately went to Cygnus and Druella and introduced himself.

“So good to meet you, Sir,” he said grandly. “I read your statement about wasting resources to corral trolls away from stray Muggles – couldn’t agree more.”

“Harumph,” said Cygnus, not-so-subtly eyeing Selwyn, who was whispering something in Lillian’s ear as she giggled absurdly and not-so-subtly eyed Lucius as he pulled out a chair for Georgia. Travers quickly buried his look of discouragement and grinned at Narcissa.

“Good trip, Cissy?”

“Very nice,” said Narcissa, smiling as she graciously (if reluctantly) took the seat he offered her. The following week consisted of more lunches and several walks about the grounds. Lillian either stuck to Narcissa or to Selwyn like glue. They played cards and chess and Georgia played two-on-two Quidditch with Travers, Lestrange, and Selwyn while Narcissa sat on the sidelines and read books and Lucius looked on and applauded Georgia, dishing out drawling insults to his friends each time she bested them, and kissing her at the end of each match. Not to be outdone, Lillian did the same for Selwyn, often positioning herself within Lucius's line of sight.

The days were surprisingly cool for late June, but on the warmest day since their arrival, all of the teenagers left the immediate grounds and climbed up into the surrounding hills. They found a pleasant, short, grassy cliff next to a stream that spilled over the edge and into a pool ten feet below. They stayed there for some hours as the sun climbed, house-elves plying them with sandwiches, sparkling cider, and fresh grapes and strawberries. As it got warmer, Lillian and Georgia took off their shoes and the boys – even Lucius – shed their jackets. Lucius, true to the Malfoy manner, was still dressed formally. He leaned back on his hands, white shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, watching Lestrange and Travers wrestle. Selwyn sat in between Lucius and Narcissa, and Lillian sat behind him with her arms around his neck.

Travers threw Lestrange off and collapsed, eagle-spread, on the ground. “Merlin’s beard, it’s hot,” he panted, face glistening with sweat as he fanned himself. “I think I fancy a swim.”

“That sounds lovely,” commented Lillian, nuzzling Selwyn’s ear. “Where?”

Lestrange got up from where Travers had thrown him and sauntered to the edge of the cliff, looking down. “Pool looks perfect,” he said. “It’s deep enough for diving, anyway.” He began unbuttoning his shirt. Travers sat up and started doing the same, kicking off his shoes.

Lucius cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow. “And just how much of your clothing to you intend to take off in front of the ladies?”

“As much as pleases them,” said Lestrange arrogantly. He threw off his shirt and leapt from the cliff, whooping, and hit the water with a loud splash.

“Oh, come on, Luci,” Lillian giggled. Lucius raised his other eyebrow at the nickname. “We’re not perfect delicate flowers in need of your protection, you know. We’ve seen more than you give us credit for.” And with that she sprang to her feet, pulling Selwyn up with her. “Unbutton me, will you?”

“Lillian,” scolded Georgia, looking up from where she sat cross-legged, braiding together long strands of grass. “What would your father think?”

“He’s not here, he won’t know,” said Lillian impatiently. When Selwyn hesitated, she pushed him away, wriggled out of her dress herself, and sauntered to the cliff-edge in her slip. Lucius looked away and complimented Georgia on her braided grass. “Come on then,” said Lillian to Selwyn with a wicked grin. “Don’t leave me alone with Lestrange.” And she, too, dove over the cliff edge.

Selwyn sighed and scratched the back of his head, looking simultaneously suspicious and uncomfortable and eager. He pulled his shirt over his head. “Coming, Malfoy?”

“Do you want to?” Lucius asked Georgia.

She shrugged. “I’ll go wading, I suppose.” At this, Lucius undid the buttons at his throat.

“You’re all a bunch of pansies,” snorted Travers, standing shirtless with his arms crossed and, with a daring grin in Narcissa’s direction, he undid his belt.

Narcissa, still wearing her shoes, got to her feet and smiled at Lucius and Georgia. “I’ll just go back to the cottage.” Water splashed up from below as the other three laughed and swam and called up to them.

“What’s taking you all so long?” came Lillian’s voice.

“Oi, Narcissa,” protested Travers. “Where are you going?”

“Travers is trying to convince Narcissa to get in,” guessed Selwyn wisely from below the cliff-edge.

Lillian again. "Oh, she'll not do it. She's too aloof for this sort of thing."

The comment stung. Her friends that remained on the cliff exchanged uncomfortable looks. Narcissa gathered up her books and said in her most dignified voice, “Believe it or not, Travers, it was not my desire, nor ambition, nor hope to see you in your underpants today.” The tension broke. Low whistles came from the hidden crowd in the pool.

Travers laughed. “C’mon, Narcissa, don’t be a prude.”

“She’s not a prude, Travers,” said Lucius suddenly, looking at him with a slightly threatening smile. “She’s just infinitely classier than yourself.”

Travers ignored him, dropping his belt on the grass. “Sure you doing want to stay, Narcissa? Sure there’s nothing you want to see?”

“Perhaps I _would_ stay,” said Narcissa calmly, “If I thought you would show me anything worth seeing.”

Shouts of laughter. Travers good-naturedly joined in with only a small note of dejection as Narcissa left the others to their antics and returned to the cottages, trying to get the vision of Lucius undoing his buttons out of her head.

*

The warm weather grew hot, and then muggy. Late in the week, the group of friends met at Lillian’s cottage, drinking iced lemonade mid-morning under the shade of a tree with wilting branches.

Lucius seemed to have something on his mind. He gazed frowning at his glass of lemonade while Travers and Lestrange cracked jokes and Georgia braided necklaces of lilacs and Narcissa, hot and bored, fanned herself, staring up at the tree with the slouching branches. Selwyn fanned Lillian.

“What’s got you so preoccupied, Lucius?” Georgia asked as the dropped the circle of lilacs around his neck and started on a daisy chain. “You haven’t spoken for half an hour at least.”

“Do you know,” said Lucius thoughtfully. “That a battalion of mountain trolls is rumored to have been herded through here not two months ago?”

“Mountain trolls?” asked Selwyn.

“For the Lord Voldemort, I presume,” said Narcissa, still staring upwards and watching the leaves sway lazily on slight breezes. “He’s been said to be gathering dark creatures for some time now. The tabloids note sightings all the time now.”

“Exactly,” said Lucius. “I’ve been thinking of going to the site where they were seen, and as a storm’s brewing and we’re heading out at the end of the week, today is probably our last chance. Want to go?” He looked hopefully into Gerogia's face.

“You and your politics!” Georgia huffed. “Really, it drives me up the wall sometimes. We're here to relax. Can’t you let it go? We aren’t even finished with school yet, why do you have to get so deep in it?”

Lucius didn’t answer, frowning slightly and mirroring Narcissa’s stance of staring up at the tree.

“Go hiking in the mountains?” groaned Lillian. “In this heat? No thanks. I’ll stay here and sleep in an ice bath.”

“You know Travers and I are in,” said Lestrange, sitting up. “But Selwyn might want to join Burke in her ice bath.”

Lillian giggled, but Selwyn threw a napkin at Lestrange. “We have ages for ice baths, it’s not every day you get trace the path of a revolution. I’ll come.”

“Narcissa?” prodded Travers. “You coming? It could get scary, but I’ll hold your hand if you like.”

“You have to ask?” Narcissa traced lazy circles around the rim of her glass of lemonade. “I thought you knew me better than that. Of course I’m coming.”

Lucius smiled at the tree, then pushed his face into a somber expression. “Georgia?”

Georgia shook her head and sighed again. “Go on then, you and your political club. I’m staying here. How you get a thrill from going and standing where wizards _may_ have stood while herding mountain trolls is beyond me.”

Narcissa changed into a dress more suitable for vigorous climbing, tied her hair back in a tight braid, and met the boys—three of them, Lucius was missing—in front of the Malfoy cottage. Travers and Lestrange simultaneously offered her a broom. “Here you are, Narcissa,” said Travers quickly. “Latest Cleansweep, released just last year. Nice and safe and reliable, and I’ll be right beside you—”

“Is that a Nimbus?” Narcissa interrupted, addressing Lestrange. Travers’ face fell.

“Yeah!” Lestrange said, grinning widely. “Yeah, it’s Malfoy’s broom actually, he said we could use it.”

“Really?” Narcissa took the broom and examined it. “Where is he?”

“Already there, apparently,” said Selwyn, looking over his own broomstick, a Comet. Narcissa didn’t know which model. “Said he’d meet us. Told us where to go, though.” Narcissa swung her leg over Lucius’s broom while Selwyn addressed Travers. “Give Lestrange the Cleansweep. Don’t look like that, you should’ve known she’d want the fast one. You’re being a little too obvious, by the way.”

“Little?” snorted Lestrange. “Try a whole mountain range of ‘obvious.’ ”

“Speak for yourself, Lestrange,” growled Travers, blushing furiously. “Just because your brother married her sister doesn't mean you get carte-blanche—”

Ignoring the lot of them, Narcissa kicked off into the air. The boys soon followed, and they tore over the lake and then the hills and up into the mountains. Narcissa bent low over her broom, clenching her knees close together. The wind whipped loose strands of her hair about her face and the ends of her skirt about her calves. The wind and the speed thrilled her, and she grinned to herself, taking joy in every climb and every dive. At last, and yet all too soon, Selwyn (who had taken the lead), dove down towards a figure who stood on an outcropping rock, staring up at them. Narcissa circled the area once, then came in for a landing and gracefully dismounted her broom.

“That was some flying, Black,” said Lucius. “Like the broom?”

“It’s lovely,” said Narcissa, flushing from the unexpected compliment.

“Yeah, Narcissa,” said Lestrange, circling overhead. “Why don’t you try out for Quidditch?”

“Athletics are below my social status,” said Narcissa primly. Travers and Lestrange touched down behind her. “I do enjoy flying though. I’ve been trying to get Father to buy me a winged horse for ages.” Then, to Lucius, “But why didn’t you fly with us?”

“Old Luci is scared of flying, that’s why,” chirruped Travers.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “Not at all, I simply prefer Apparition. Much quicker. Brooms are pleasant but a waste of time.”

“You Apparated?” Narcissa stared in spite of herself. “You have an Apparition license?”

“If brooms are such a waste of time,” complained Lestrange. “Why didn’t you take us with you?”

“I’m not experienced enough for side-along Apparition,” said Lucius with a shrug, hands in his pockets. “And certainly not for four other people. And no,” he said to Narcissa, “I’m not licensed, but that’s only because the examiner fell ill and missed our appointment. I turned seventeen a little over a month ago.”

Narcissa did her best to act like this was news to her. “Oh. Happy birthday.”

Lucius smiled at her. “Thank you.”

Selwyn glanced between them. “So where’s this mountain troll trail, Malfoy?”

“Yeah, Luci,” said Travers. “Where were the trolls? And if we need to make an airborne getaway, just close your eyes. You can ride on my broom so you can close your eyes. I’ll even let you hold my hand.”

Lucius ignored the teasing. “We won’t have anything to make a getaway from. There aren’t any trolls left.” He jerked his head. “I've had time to scout out the area. The trail should be this way.”

“You have to get up high to spot mountain troll trails, because they’re so big,” said Travers to Lestrange as they made their way down a stony path. “Luci, just how many times did you throw up when trying to find it?”

“Travers,” said Narcissa. “If you don’t shut up I will hex you off your broom during our getaway and feed you to the trolls myself.”

Everybody laughed. Travers beamed. The troop hid their brooms in a crag, ate sandwiches that Lucius had provided, and spoke seriously about the latest war news as they made their way through stony copses and past patches of short grass, bushes, and moss. It was cooler at this high altitude. Narcissa found it immensely refreshing. Even better, freed from the other two girls, they could finally focus on important things. It was mid-afternoon when they stumbled upon scorch marks and fresh stony footprints that were evidence of the troll caravan. They gathered around one particularly clear footprint, and each tried in turn to fit inside of the immense spread. Only Narcissa could manage it, curling up tight with her knees pressed to her chest.

“That one must be from a female,” guessed Lestrange. “Or a young one – they can be simply enormous, so I’ve heard.”

They continued on, guessing amongst themselves just _how_ Lord Voldemort’s supporters had managed to control unruly mountain trolls and just how they intended to use them. So engrossed were they in their fascination, that it wasn’t until a particularly cold wind whooshed down over the rocks did Selwyn look up and comment, “Oh, dear.” The heat was gone, and dark clouds rolled overhead.

“Damn,” said Travers, observing the sky. “Don’t think we can fly back in time, do you?” Distant thunder growled.

“Can’t you Apparate us out?” Lestrange asked nervously, looking pleadingly at Lucius.

“I told you, I can’t do side-along Apparition,” said Lucius, also frowning upwards. “Come on,” he ordered, beckoning. “We need to find a cave or overhang to wait it out.” The other boys murmured assent. Narcissa said nothing. She was internally cursing herself for not watching the weather; she hadn’t told her parents where she was going, or that she was going at all. Hopefully they would just assume she was at Lillian and Georgia’s cottage.

The thunder became gradually louder, and flashes of lightning became visible. The afternoon grew dark. The troop walked single-file along a wide path, along one side of which cliffs rose above their heads, and along the other side cliffs plunged into a deep gorge with deep, rushing water that spilled into a black lake. A little beyond this, Lucius stopped suddenly and put his hand on a rock face. “What is it, Malfoy?” Travers looked from Lucius to the sky. Lucius didn’t answer, and Narcissa realized he wasn’t putting his hand on solid rock, but working his fingers into a small gap between two large rock faces.

“Stand back,” he ordered, drawing his wand. With a quick incantation and an almost lazy wave, a slab of rock twice as tall as Narcissa and four times wide as she was tall moved gently to the side several feet, landing with a crunch that shuddered the earth, revealing a dark opening. “Inside then,” he said, waving his hand. Lestrange entered first, lighting his wand and peering around cautiously.

“All clear,” he said, and the others followed him in.

“Good work, Malfoy,” said Travers.

“Thank you,” said Lucius, stepping deeper into the cave, lighting it with his own wand. “I’m top of the class in NEWT Charms, it’s my best subject after Defense.”

While they discussed classes, Narcissa went off by herself to another far corner of the cave. She left sandy footprints in the cave floor, and insects scattered from her circle of light. The chamber was enormous. The ceiling stretched up beyond the range of normal wandlight and could only be seen after Travers sent up a ball of fire that hung cheerfully in mid-air. The chamber made a sharp turn to the left, and large protrusions of rock both from the walls and from the floor and ceiling made it very easy to lose sight of one another. At the back-end of the left curve, the chamber split off into two wide openings as tall as the ceiling (the size of them made it difficult to call them corridors), disappearing into blackness. Narcissa peered down one of these, but she made no move to explore further.

“Black,” Lucius’s voice echoed from across the chamber. “What NEWTs are you taking?”

“Transfiguration,” she answered, starting back towards the others where they had set up a semi-circle camp. Travers had moved his hovering ball of fire to hang above their heads. “Charms, Potions, Ancient Runes, Astronomy and Defense.” She sat down in the gap left for her, between Selwyn and Travers and across from Lucius. Outside, rain began to fall, the pattering sending ghostly echoes through the cave.

“If you’re taking NEWT Defense, you really should join the dueling club,” said Lucius, leaning back against the smooth cave wall with his hands behind his head. “Gives you both sides – you don’t just learn defense, but offense. Will likely come in handy if the war continues to grow.”

“I don’t like fighting,” said Narcissa bluntly. After a brief pause, “Do you use hexes and jinxes?”

“Sometimes,” said Lestrange, grinning.

“I’ll join then,” agreed Narcissa.

“Any food left, Malfoy?” asked Selwyn. “I’m starving.”

Lucius frowned. “Not much,” he admitted, digging into the bag at his side.

“Let me see,” ordered Narcissa, and he handed it over. Quickly and with a lot more effort than it appeared, she transfigured the slightly squashed sandwiches into fresh, new ones and increased their number. She then took a few leftovers and, with intense concentration, formed several chocolate frogs.

“Blimey, Narcissa!” blurted Lestrange and Selwyn simultaneously. “Where’d you learn that?”

“Charms is Malfoy’s best subject, Transfiguration is mine,” said Narcissa, inwardly beaming with pride, but outwardly coolly dividing the supplies among her comrades.

“Thanks,” the boys chorused.

“Leave some,” she warned. “Or we’ll have nothing for later if this storm lasts long.”

The biting cold from outside began to penetrate the inside of the cave, and they eventually moved deeper, near one of the large openings.

“Wonder what’s in there?” mused Travers, moving his fireball into the entrance.

“Don’t,” warned Lucius. “Nothing’s bothering us out here, that doesn’t mean we should go poking around.”

“Lighten up, Malfoy, there’s no mountain trolls left, right?”

“Right…” said Lucius slowly.

Selwyn got to his feet, also peering down the opening. “Nothing could get in from our entrance,” he said reasonably. “It was completely blocked up. There’s probably nothing living here for a good ways – nothing dangerous, anyway. I say we check it out.”

Lucius shrugged, leaning back against the cave wall again. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed from outside. “Suit yourselves. I’m staying here.”

Narcissa, also, had no desire to go further. She wrapped her arms about her legs and rested her head against her knees, watching the light from their companions' wands grow dimmer and disappear.

“Have you—” Lucius began suddenly, then stopped. She raised her head.

“What?”

“Nothing,” said Lucius. “Never mind.” They sat silently for several minutes, long after the sounds of the others had vanished. Lucius got to his feet and strolled to the split-end of the chamber, his hands in his pockets. “Do you smell that?”

“Smell what?”

Lucius sniffed the air a moment. “Nothing, I suppose.” He stood silently with his back to her.

Narcissa put her hands against the floor and shifted her position so it was easier to look at him. “I’ve enjoyed my stay here. Thank you for inviting me – us, that is.”

“You're welcome. I’m glad.” He turned around and waved his hand towards the unseen entrance. “Sorry about all this, though.”

Narcissa shrugged. “It’s not your fault. And if we had turned back in time to miss the storm we wouldn’t have reached the trail.” She pulled her braid over her shoulder and began to undo it. “Anyway, it’s all been worth it. It’s very dull at home anymore, now that Bellatrix is gone.” Andy’s absence filled the silent space in her mouth.

Lucius walked back towards her and sat on the ground. “She doesn’t visit much, then?”

“No. She’s been – busy.”

“Right.” He crossed his arm, one leg stretched out in front of him. “But she’s well?”

“Yes.” Narcissa fingered the hem of her dress as they both fell silent, trying desperately to think of something more to say. “It’s unfortunate that Georgia didn’t want to come.”

Lucius coughed. “Yes, well…she’s not that interested in the war.”

“She doesn’t care about the war?” Narcissa had thought her to be more sensible than this.

It was Lucius’s turn to finger his clothing; he tugged on the cuffs of his sleeves. “It’s not that she doesn’t care—of course she cares, she just doesn’t want to become personally involved and she doesn’t understand why I am.”

Narcissi noted the use of the present tense, as opposed to the future tense. “Well, then, she's very silly. It will greatly impact how we live to years to come. We _have_ to be personally involved.”

“Careful, Black,” said Lucius quietly. “That’s my girlfriend you’re talking about.”

Narcissa scowled, but added grudgingly, “Well, I find most people to be silly. Georgia is much less so than Lillian; she’s more empty-headed than a mountain troll sometimes. Selwyn’s all right. But even Travers and Lestrange wouldn’t be around if you weren’t.”

Lucius looked startled, then said with a small smile, “I think their interest has more to do with you than me, Black.”

Narcissa shook her head. “Now, maybe. And they are genuinely interested in the War now. But they wouldn't have joined the club at all originally if you hadn’t led them into it.”

“I—” Lucius looked simultaneously disturbed and flattered. “Well—” he ran one hand back through his hair. Thunder rolled outside.

“They really ought not to have gone,” said Narcissa suddenly, frowning. “What if they can’t find their way back?”

“I’ve been thinking the same thing,” said Lucius, looking over his shoulder in the direction of the opening. “I think we’d better go find them.”

Narcissa jumped up, shaking out her skirt and following Lucius around the protruding rock pillars and hills and through the opening. “Lumos,” he muttered, lighting up the space immediately surrounding them.

“One moment,” said Narcissa, stopping. She drew her own wand and shook small blue sparks from the end, where they rested by the wall, hovering near the ground; a trail of breadcrumbs. The duo proceeded, Narcissa continuing to leave sparks as they left the cavern behind them. The sandy floor sloped gently downwards, occasionally interrupted by more protrusions of rock rising up from the floor or swelling out of the shadows to either side. Some narrow crannies were evident – large enough for a slim figure like Narcissa to slip through – but no major changes were seen until a good ten minutes later. The darkness before and behind them, past Lucius’s wandlight, was complete. The noise of the storm outside faded to nothing.

Lucius stopped so suddenly that Narcissa, looking behind her at her glowing trail of sparks, ran into him. “Oh—dear—sorry—” She spluttered, backpedaling, and blushing far more than was necessary for this minor blunder. Then she clapped a hand over her nose and mouth. “Oh, _ugh_. What is that?”

Lucius raised his wand, face twisted in disgust. To the left, the corridor split off in a wide, yawning gateway – the first deviance they’d come across. He crept towards it. “It’s coming from in here.” He held out his wand, running it down the walls and to the floor. Or, where the floor could have been. The cave bottom dropped away into yawning blackness for the entirety of the gateway, like a huge, plunging elevator shaft. “That’s what I smelled earlier.”

Narcissa lowered her hand from her mouth slightly, staying where she was while Lucius investigated. “But we didn’t smell it again until now.” The stench was like a mixture of rotten meat, burning flesh, and moldy, sweaty clothing.

“I know,” said Lucius. “It doesn’t make sense.” He backed away from the shaft. “They won’t have gone down there. It’s a long drop.”

 “Could they not have climbed down?”

“They could have, but who would willingly go further into that smell?”

Narcissa did not argue further as they hurried away from the hole. She continued to leave sparks. They reached another cavern, this one bitingly cold. Even when Lucius raised his wand and increased the light they couldn’t see the sides, though the chilly breeze suggested a large room. Narcissa swore she could have heard running water, distant and roaring. They crept along one wall until they reached two huge passages sloping downwards in opposite directions. They stopped.

“Idiots,” Lucius muttered. “They could be anywhere—” He whirled suddenly, staring into the blackness of the cavern. Narcissa didn’t have to ask him why. The stench blew past them.

“It’s coming from up ahead,” Narcissa whispered. “Not from where we came.” She waited a moment, while Lucius continued to stare. “Malfoy?”

“Black,” said Lucius, very slowly and very quietly. “I think I had better put my light out.”

Narcissa, again, did not have to ask why. The stench increased. Prickles went up her spine. She stared into the blackness, half-expecting something to stare back. And if Lucius felt the same way— “Yes, I think you’d better.” The light vanished, and her last glimpse of Lucius’s face was an intense expression with hard eyes and a clenched jaw.

“Black,” said Lucius quietly again. She reached out automatically. The same instant, Lucius’s hand brushed her hip and quickly withdrew. He found her hand a moment later and, blindly linked, they felt their way down one of the new passages. Narcissa still left sparks, but their light was insignificant. The sparks illuminated only themselves. Deprived of her sight, Narcissa listened harder than before. She convinced herself that she did indeed hear running water, but it was getting fainter. More immediate was the sound of their feet scuffling on hard rock (the sand was gone), Lucius’s breathing, and occasional thumps and vibrations from deep within the rocks. It was also very easy to think about Lucius’s hand. She’d never given much thought to his grip before—she’d never had occasion—but she noticed now it was firm, and there was a tense strength behind it, but it wasn’t hard or painful. He held her tightly enough for her to know he didn’t intend to let go, but she could also pull away if she wanted or needed to. She didn’t, so she didn’t.

The stench still grew. It made her head spin and her temples throb. And then, abruptly, it vanished.

Lucius stopped. Narcissa bumped up against him. He twisted around and grabbed her shoulder. His breath stirred her hair around her ear a moment later. “ _Shhh._ ”

Narcissa held her breath, listening until her ears rang. One hand still in Lucius’s, she reached out and brushed a damp wall, and then a rough corner. Something rustled. Narcissa held her breath. Lucius was perfectly silent. Lucius gripped her hand tighter. Around the corner, something else was breathing. She sensed Lucius stiffening. His hand squeezed hers once, twice, three times.

Then he jumped out, Narcissa just behind him.

“Lumos!” he hissed.

“Protego!” cried Narcissa.

“Stupefy!” shrieked three voices. One bolt of light shot above their heads, one merely sparked and then faded, and one collided with Narcissa’s shield in an explosion of light.

“Bloody _hell_ Malfoy!” yelped Travers. He and Lestrange stood flanking a pale Selwyn. Lucius stared, mouth slightly open. With a jolt, Narcissa saw Selwyn’s leg stretched in front of him with the trousers rolled up to the knee, ankle blackened and swollen, foot bare.

Lucius’s mouth closed. He stepped forward and knelt down in front of Selwyn. “What happened?” he asked sharply, holding up his wand and increasing its light. Selwyn winced, the sweat on his face glistening.

“Fell,” he said. “Floor broke apart half a mile back. There’s something down here, Malfoy.”

Lucius’s jaw went in and out as he frowned at Selwyn’s foot. He glanced over his shoulder at the blackness, then briefly made eye contact with Narcissa. She couldn’t read his expression. He reached towards Selwyn's foot. "May I—"

"Don't!" Selwyn gasped. "I already tried. It's no good, it's broken. I need a Healer."

Lucius stood. “Help him up,” he ordered. Travers and Lestrange obeyed, gripping Selwyn’s hands as he threw his arms over their shoulders. “Come on, quick as you can. Black’s left a trail.” He dimmed the light, but didn’t put it out as they staggered back the way they had come. Lucius led the way, the three boys followed, and Narcissa took the rear. Selwyn’s breath hissed through his teeth and Travers and Lestrange gasped and grunted. Narcissa tried to listen to the darkness, but it was unyielding in the noise of the boys. She put her hand against the wall, putting out her sparks as they went. They entered the chilly air of the large chamber and Narcissa, trailing her fingers along the wall, felt it shudder. She stopped short for a moment, looking behind her. The wall vibrated again, slightly. She quickened her pace.

Selwyn let out a sharp cry.

“ _Adrian!_ ” Lucius snapped.

“Sorry,” gasped Selwyn in a high-pitched whisper.

The wall shuddered for a third time, then went still. Up ahead, Narcissa’s sparks disappeared. She grimaced. A large outcropping of rock barred their way. Lucius did not comment on the disappearance of their trail, taking a detour that took them closer to the center of the room. The foul stench hit them again in a sudden wave.

“We’re close to the pit,” Lucius’s whisper carried back. Narcissa frowned. She could have sworn the smell came from somewhere to the side, not ahead. And then, as they rounded the outcropping, Narcissa’s sparks appeared again, next to the wall. Lucius veered back towards it. The outcropping of rock had broken the trail, that was all.

_But,_ Narcissa puzzled, _I don't remember it being there._  "Malfoy—" she began. She didn’t have time to finish before she had passed the outcropping and in her peripheral vision, the rock moved and stepped away from the wall. Narcissa did not scream, but her cry of “Malfoy!” nearly was one.

The rock roared, the boys yelled, and Narcissa dove to the side as shadow plunged down towards her in a plunge of rotting flesh.

“ _Stupefy!_ ” Lucius shouted. A sound like an explosion; the floor rocked. Narcissa slid, feeling the floor cracking underneath her. She gagged as the damp stench rolled over her and she scrambled to her feet. Lucius stood in a pool of his wandlight, his wand held above his head. Selwyn, on the ground, shot another curse. Narcissa whirled and above her the deformed, bulging, leering face of an enormous gray troll was illuminated. His club raced a foot above the ground towards them as the troll swung it low.

“Run!” Travers shouted. Narcissa fled, adrenaline surging through her arms and legs like cold water and igniting frozen fear in the pit of her stomach. The ground quaked in rhythmic beats; the troll’s growl shook the air. She threw a jet of light ahead. They made for the corridor; her blue sparks twinkled along the ground. Gasping, she threw herself into its opening.

_It_ _’ll fit,_ she thought, panicked, _it_ _’ll fit, it_ _’ll fit_ — She spun around, raising her wand, ready to curse. Travers and Lucius half-dragged, half-supported Selwyn as they hurried towards her, their fists full of the fabric of Selwyn’s jacket. Spots of pink now showed on his pale face. Lestrange came along behind them looking over his shoulder.

“Where did it go?” Narcissa whispered. The troll did not emerge. Its footsteps no longer shook the ground.

“It’ll be taking another way around and coming in from ahead of us,” gasped Travers, continuing to pull Selwyn. “That must’ve been what it was doing earlier when Selwyn broke his ankle, it had us confused, trying to figure out where and what it was—”

“I thought trolls were supposed to be stupid!” Lestrange took Travers’ place and the group went as fast as Selwyn could manage—an admirable trotting pace, given the circumstances. Narcissa took the lead, wand upheld, lighting the way.

“So it can’t talk,” Travers snapped, “Doesn’t mean it can’t hunt in its own home, it has the advantage here.”

“What do we do?” Lestrange re-adjusted his grip on Selwyn’s arm. The ground sloped steeply upwards. “Malfoy? How do we kill a troll?”

“Kill?” repeated Narcissa, her nerves making her voice cold and barbed. “We’re not killing it, we’re getting out as fast as we can.”

“Hadn’t be better turn the light out?” Travers asked.

Lestrange protested. “No, we couldn’t see it then! It’s camouflaged enough with all this rock!”

“But it’s a beacon telling it where we are—”

“Lestrange is right,” interrupted Narcissa without turning around. “It can see in the dark—better than we can, anyway. It can see us whether we have light or not. We may as well not be blind.” A minute of harried travel later, Narcissa had a split second to think that the wall had a rather bulgy, fleshy look about it, and then the eyes reflected the light. Lestrange squealed and the club plunged towards Narcissa and the light.

“BLACK!”

She dove and the ground gave way underneath her feet, cracking and crumbling into dust. She scrambled up and bolted, ducking under the troll’s club and through his legs. It roared and turned.

“BLACK!”

She put on another burst of speed; didn’t have to look over her shoulder to know the troll was giving chase. The boys were shouting curses again. Cold air. The chamber. The smell of rain. Enormous boulders rising out of the ground. Narcissa swerved, raced down the other corridor. The stench overwhelmed the rain. Narcissa doubled back, raced past the troll as it plunged towards her.

She tripped. Flipped over onto her back. "Bombarda!" The jet of light struck the ceiling of the corridors, boulders and dust and stalactites plunged down. An enormous piece of the ceiling struck the troll on the head and split and two. Narcissa was on her feet and running in the first chamber again before she was conscious of having gotten back up.

Orange flame lit up behind her; her shadow stretched out before her. The troll roared. She raced behind one of the boulders, put out her light, and flung herself on the ground. She lay still, pressing her fist to her mouth to silence her gasping. The boys shouted; pebbles and dust rained from the ceiling as the chamber shuddered and rocked. Narcissa pressed her face to the floor, heart pounding.

Selwyn screamed.

Lucius was yelling something. His voice rose an octave. Narcissa scrambled up, ran around the rock. The troll bore down on a crumpled figure.

“ACCIPITER!” screamed Narcissa. “OPPUGNO!”  Birds of prey shot towards the troll, flapping and screeching, their talons spread. They tore at its thick hide and its eyes. The troll waved them off, eyes rolling in its head, turning. Travers jumped forward and grabbed the limp Selwyn, dragging him backwards. A fireball danced in the air. The troll smashed the attacking birds and leveled its gaze at Narcissa. They stared at each other.

“Black!” It was Lucius. A small part of her mind wondered at this fact. It was Lucius who kept calling her name.

The spell broke. The troll charged. Narcissa stumbled backwards, tripping over her dress. The club swung. She ran; it clipped her heel and she pin-wheeled through the air, landing and sliding along the ground until she crashed into one of the rock protrusions. She gasped; her palms chaffed and bleeding. She pushed herself up, struggling to breath. The troll lumbered towards her; her ears rang. She felt sure the boys were still shouting, but she couldn’t hear them.

_Get outside,_ a voice whispered in her head. _It_ _’s a mountain troll, it lives in caves. Get outside._

She somehow got to her feet. She somehow turned her back to the oncoming troll. She almost felt like she was flying towards the entrance, hurtling through the air at an exhilarating rate without her feet once touching the ground. Pain became a distant thing; it was run, run, run, run and fly, get to the crack of the door, escape outside.

Lighting flashed. Sheets of rain drenched her to the skin. The heat of the day was gone, replaced by a severe coldfront. Goosebumps broke over her skin as she crept along the rock wall, blinking water out of her eyes. With a crack like thunder, the ground rocked and something struck her back. She fell. Pain jolted up her knees and throbbed through her shoulders. She scrambled back to her feet, turning. The troll rose up, silhouetted against flashes of lightening. Pebbles and debris from the broken stone over the entrance to the cave tumbled over the edge of the cliff. Narcissa took a step back. The rain numbed her fingers. The troll’s silhouette expanded as it bore down on her, one of its enormous, stubby hands gripping the side of the cliff as its body took up the entirety of the pathway. Narcissa backed away, stumbling. She looked over her shoulder at the twisting path, then back at the troll. A long, bulky shape spun through the air. Narcissa realized in one split second that it had thrown its club at her.

_It_ _’s a mountain troll. Rock, stone, and caves. Get away from it._

Narcissa flung herself off the cliff. The darkness of the night closed around her head and she felt like she was floating, hung suspended in midair. Then she hit the water, and a sensation like fire spread across her skin. An invisible hand squeezed her lungs she struggled, kicking out against the spinning currents. Her head broke the surface. She gasped just as a wave crashed over her head and she slipped underneath the waves again. Her fingers had no feeling in them. She didn’t know if she was still grasping her wand.

_I am not going to die._

Her mind disconnected from the pain and the panic and a cool sense of calculated calm swept over her. _Kick out, push against the water, let it carry you upwards._ She broke the surface again, coughing. _Get the water out of your lungs. Breathe in. Spit out the waves._ _You aren_ _’t in the river, you turned left out of the cave. You_ _’re in the lake. Tread the water. Clench your fingers in a tight fist; you might still have your wand, don_ _’t let it go. Let this wave carry you up. Breathe._ _Where is the troll?_

Narcissa shook strands of hair out of her eyes and looked upwards. The troll’s silhouette blended in with that of the cliff’s. No – a flash of fire. There it was, stretching upwards. Somehow, this far away, it looked larger than before, exposed to the night and the elements. Orange light bounced in the air, sputtered, and went out. A shriek made its meandering way down to Narcissa’s ears, twisted and warped by the wind and thunder.

_The boys are outside._

Through the thunder and the troll’s roars and the lashing rain and her struggles to keep her head above the water, Narcissa could not discern what was happening.

_They need my help._

Narcissa forced herself to focus on her immediate surroundings. Where was the shore? Was there a shore? She tried to remember. An icy chill began to steal its way into her limbs. She had to get out of this frigid water. If she didn’t drown, the lightning might strike the water and electrocute her. But even as she struck out, trying to swim towards where there might be an edge to the lake, a bright flash of golden light made her look up again. Lightning flashed in quick succession. As if in slow stop-motion, she saw the troll’s silhouette turn, stumble, plunge downwards and fill her entire vision. Narcissa jerked her perhaps-wandless-hand up and screamed.

“BOMBARDA!”

A jet of light and explosion shoved her into the water. She broke the surface again, only to feel the water swell. She was thrown from the waves, spun through the air, then collided with a mountain of water that rose up in front of her. It grabbed her, dragging her down, down, down. She kicked and struggled but the water tugged her in multiple directions. She had no direction. No way was up. She clenched her jaw in the effort to not suck in liquid death.

_Stop struggling!_ Her cold logic ordered. She went limp. The currents swelled around her, wrapping her dress around her legs. A bolt of light. She turned over. Another streak of light. Lightening. _That_ way was up. She kicked, stretching her hands towards it. She saw stars in her head. Her lungs ached. Bubbles escaped from her lips.

She broke the surface again, coughing and gasping. Strange; why did she taste blood? Was she injured? As liquid drained from her ears, she heard voices again, terrified shouts that were almost wails. She could discern one word.

“Narcissa! _Narcissa!_ ”

Her arms ached and throbbed from the cold and exhaustion. She forced herself to swim – she’d lost all sense of “forward” or “backward” at this point. But no, there – a light, high in the sky, a sputtering candle in the rain. It shone out, slowly descending. It was someone’s wand. They were showing her the way. The light gave her new strength. She forced her way through the unyielding water, trying to not think about the troll that was somewhere underneath her kicking feet. It was slow progress, but, at last, the storm was lessening. The thunder rolled distantly. The rain hissed quietly.

“NARCISSA!”

Her strength was giving out. Narcissa paused in her fight, treading just enough water to keep her nose above the surface. She raised her wand and sent up a stream of red sparks. A shout. Instantly, three wands were lit. The silhouette of a figure became visible, rushing towards her. His hair reflected the light; it was Lucius. His silhouetted legs were swallowed by water, then his torso, then his arms, and finally it was just his head coming towards her. His eyes somehow picked up faint light from somewhere and they gleamed. And then, finally, his hand reached out and gripped her shoulder.

“Are you all right?” he demanded. She found that she did not have breath enough to answer. “Hold onto me. Can you hold onto me?” In answer, she wrapped her arms around his neck, her front pressed against his back. His legs bumped into hers as he kicked to keep them both above water. He used one hand to pull hers down further. “Hold on,” he ordered, then with Narcissa half-hanging off his back, half floating, he struck out towards the lights of the others. Narcissa’s mind went suddenly blank, as if the chill of the water was numbing it. A deep heaviness and sleepiness came over her. But Lucius had told her to hold on, so she did. Their progress was slow. Narcissa gasped from shock when Lucius’s head slipped below the water, but she realized the next moment he’d done this on purpose. Her weight pushed him down; they could go faster if he skidded along just beneath the water, supporting Narcissa like a dolphin saving a shipwrecked human. He fought against her weight only to come up and take a quick breath before diving down again.

Lucius’s head finally came up and stayed up, and then his body rose up out of the water, and Narcissa found she could touch bottom. Her mind began to work again and she let go of his neck. He tried to grab her arm, even though he was gasping for breath, but she sidestepped him, choosing to support her own weight as they splashed onto a pebbly shore. The wet, bedraggled, pale figures of Travers, Lestrange, and Selwyn stood and sat in a row, respectively.

The next moment, the danger past, Narcissa’s nerves awoke and she let out an involuntary cry, sinking to the ground. Her entire body was aflame, stinging and burning. Her knees throbbed with sticky heat, and her ankle sent sharp pains up her calf. Her very lungs stung and she began to cough and retch, spitting up acid and water.

“My god, Narcissa,” Lucius said. “What is it? What’s wrong? Did it hurt you?”

Narcissa shook her head, still coughing and struggling to catch her breath. She looked up at Lucius’s face. She could see the whites of his eyes extending clear around his irises. She’d never seen him look so scared.

“Narcissa, you’re bleeding!”

Narcissa looked where Lucius stared and saw with mild surprise the twin streams of blood slipping over her ankles and pooling around her socks. Forgetting modesty for the time being, Narcissa dragged up her water-logged skirt to reveal twin jagged cuts across her knees. The skin of her exposed legs was red and angry.

“My god,” murmured Lucius, and then a fierce rage entered his face. “Jesus _Christ_! Lestrange you bloody _idiot!_ Bloody _hell_ you almost killed her!” What little blood remained in Lestrange’s face drained away.

“What?” said Narcissa, her voice shaking and barely more than a whisper.

“It was coming at us!” protested Lestrange, his voice high. “It was going to kill us!”

“And so the solution was to throw a troll on her head?” Lucius spat. “The bloody hell were you thinking? You bloody _wanker_.”

“Malfoy,” said Narcissa quietly, gripping her bleeding knees, her mind clearing.

“Whose idea was it to come out here in the first place?” Lestrange cried. “If you hadn’t wanted to seek out where we _knew_ there had been trolls—”

Lucius looked like Lestrange had slapped him.  “Lestrange,” said Narcissa, a little louder.

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Lucius shouted. “If you hadn’t gone off _looking_ for trouble none of this would have happened!”

The color began to come back into Lestrange’s face. “If you hadn’t come up with this mad idea in the first place—if we had turned back when the weather went bad—”

“If you had any sort of competence with a wand, you bloody arse—”

“—if I hadn’t had to _save_ all of our arses—”

“Go ahead, Lestrange, keep making bloody excuses you bloody tosser, but you bloody nearly killed Narcissa and if you think I’m going to sit back and let your incompetent, selfish, idiotic, wanking—”

“Malfoy!” Narcissa said sharply, cutting him off. “That’s enough!” Lucius shut his mouth, jaw clenched and his clenched fists trembling. “Lestrange was right,” she said calmly, still holding her knees. “Mountain trolls can’t swim. They drown quickly; it’s their one weakness. He was right to throw it in. And his actions did not injure me further. He probably saved all of our lives.” Lestrange flushed pink and looked at his feet, his face twisting as he tried to hide his pleased smile. Lucius said nothing. Narcissa began to shiver.

“Here,” said Selwyn suddenly, dragging himself closer to her. He touched her knees and murmured an incantation that stopped the bleeding and decreased the stinging on the rest of her body from where she had struck the water. He did something to her ankle next and its throbbing decreased. It wasn’t broken; it wasn’t even twisted, just very badly bruised. As the pain lessened, a rush of delayed relief and terror and exhaustion crashed over her.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"You saved my neck back there," responded Selwyn.

“Can you stand?” Lucius spoke at last in a tight voice. He held out a hand to her. Narcissa gripped her skirts tight as she pulled them back over her legs, covering her now-scabbed knees. She took Lucius’s hand and he pulled her to her feet. Still shivering, Narcissa held aloft her wand and attempted a warming charm. She couldn’t speak clearly for chattering teeth, and her wand shook. “Let me,” said Lucius. He held her shoulder in a firm grip with one hand and placed the tip of his wand on the button at her throat. He traced the wand downwards. He did not change expression and he looked almost bored—at least, he appeared unaware of how hyper-conscious of his touch Narcissa felt as his wand traced its way over her chest, across her stomach, then (as he knelt in front of her) down her left leg. She looked down at his bowed head and felt hot all over – but whether it was the warming and drying charm or her own rushing blood that was causing the sensation, she couldn’t tell. Lucius stood back up.

"All right then?"

Narcissa's face flamed. Could he tell? "You should be asking Selwyn," she said, and her voice sounded tight and angry.

Still expressionless, Lucius's gaze went to Selwyn. "All right, Adrian?"

"Alive," said Selwyn. "But I think we should fly back now. Please?"

Travers summoned the brooms. He situated himself and Selwyn on the Nimbus. Lucius took Selwyn's Comet. Narcissa took the newer Cleansweep, Lestrange the older. The journey back was much longer and more arduous than the journey there, for Selwyn's sake. Lucius refused to Apparate ahead.

"I'm not going to abandon you all here, what do you take me for?"

When they arrived back at civilization, they landed at the Malfoy cottage. Selwyn was immediately helped by Travers and Lestrange to the office of the Healer on duty. Narcissa and Lucius stood in front of the fireplace. Narcissa would floo back to her cottage, despite it being a short walk away, because it was raining again. Her blood rushed in her ears.

"All right?" Lucius asked her yet again. "We'll be breaking crowns at the Ministry for this, believe me, they are supposed to keep trolls away from—"

"No you won't," Narcissa interrupted, and her voice held no chance for argument. "You know perfectly well it wasn't their fault." Lucius uncharacteristically seemed to have no answer. He stared down at the cold fireplace with his hands in his pockets. "And do you have any idea how angry my parents are going to be as it is? If they find out we battled a troll they'll never let me step outside again." She spoke of her parents, but she was thinking of Lucius. She wanted to touch him. She wanted to cling to him and bury her face in his shoulder. She wanted his arms with that undercurrent of gentle strength to hold her until the last vestiges of shock and fear and injuries drained away and she could be safe and warm forever. And if her parents discovered that he had led them into—

Lucius had taken down the pot of floo powder and offered it to her, cradled in both of his hands. It was black and shimmering with green and gold trim. Narcissa, consciously avoiding his eyes, reached in and took a pinch. Quickly, unexpectedly, one of his hands released the pot and grabbed hers. Or, nearly—but she saw it coming and as the tips of his finger brushed the underside of her wrist Narcissa jerked back and in a voice as freezing and brittle as fearful ice, she cried out, "Don't _touch_ me." Lucius fell back a step and she jumped into the fireplace. As she disappeared, the green flames burned the startled, hurt vulnerability on his face into her retinas.

She didn't see him the next day, as it was storming again and her parents didn't want her to leave the cottage. She didn't see him until they were leaving and the Malfoys were seeing them off. Lucius bowed to her, and his voice was wooden and his expression was wooden and he would not meet her eyes. He turned to go. They were getting into the carriage that would take them back to the station.

"Malfoy!" Narcissa ran after him. He turned back, still without expression, but she had startled him into meeting her eyes. "I hope – when I said – " She lowered her voice to a whisper, causing Lucius to raise his eyebrows. "It wasn't the Ministry's fault, it was _his_ followers, don't you think?"

"Don't blame the Dark Lord," said Lucius with warning in his voice.

"Oh, good heavens, no," said Narcissa, her voice trembling with the effort to show him how earnest she felt. "Only those sent to fetch the trolls. I only meant, I didn't mean it was _your_ fault, because it wasn't. They let one escape. If you or your father don't crack heads for him, I'll ask Bellatrix to."

A flicker of a smile on Lucius's face. He looked over her shoulder. "Your parents look cross, Black."

She didn't care. They could ground her until the next term if they wanted, but she wasn't leaving until Lucius looked at her – _really_ looked at her. "I didn't ever thank you," she said. "For getting us out."

"I didn't do anything," said Lucius, his gaze moving to stare into space. "I chose the bloody cave, it was my fault we—"

"You got us out," said Narcissa stubbornly. "For pity's sake, Malfoy, don't underestimate your own leadership. It was a great experience anyway, troll or no troll. You stayed level-headed the entire time."

Lucius looked at her. "Not the entire time."

Narcissa was dumbstruck for a moment, and she wasn't sure why. "S-see you next term," she blurted at last, and spun around and headed back to her carriage.

"See you," called Lucius.

Narcissa climbed up and they headed out.

Cygnus harrumphed. "You said last night that Selwyn helped your knees?"

"Yes, sir," said Narcissa, shaking herself out of a half-daydream.

Cygnus turned to his wife. "Sensible lad, that one," he said.

Narcissa looked out the carriage window and watched as Lucius walked towards his parents, his back towards her. Rain began to fall again.

*

The sixth year of Narcissa Black was much like her fifth, but for one thing. She and Lucius were a more ruthless pair than ever.

“Malfoy! Malfoy!” A harried first-year burst into the common room, eyes wet and nose blotchy. “Malfoy, a Hufflepuff half-blood just insulted our entire family. Said we were rotten to the core.”

“Oh my,” said Lucius Malfoy from where he sat lounging by the fire, legs crossed. His newest badge flickered; he was Head Boy. “How egregious of him. Narcissa?” He placed his hand on her forearm.

Narcissa was sitting in the chair beside him with her ankles crossed, like she often did, making the two of them look like twin royals in matching thrones with their matching uniforms, hair, and (quite frankly) beauty. She lowered her newspaper and looked at her little cousin, flaming anger running underneath her skin. “Did he really, Regulus?” She asked as coolly as she could manage, even as she glowered at the thought of the apes touching her cousin, of them dirtying her name in their mouths. Regulus nodded. “Then I should hope he never breaks the rules.”

“He doesn’t,” said Regulus bitterly. “He’s a _Hufflepuff._ ”

“He never cheats?” asked Lucius. “Never does anything slightly below-board? Has he a temper?” Regulus shook his head to all of these, and Lucius smiled. “Then I suppose there’s nothing we can do.” Narcissa hid behind her paper, seeing red.

Two weeks later, Regulus rushed into the common room looking awestruck. “Narcissa! He's gone! The Hufflepuff! He attacked a Ravenclaw, right in front of the teacher, and was shouting and everything.”

“Really? Why?” asked Lucius, still smiling and not looking at all surprised.

“He said the Ravenclaw had threatened to kill his cat. And the Ravenclaw didn’t even deny it. He was suspended. The Hufflepuff was.”

The room slowly emptied until the only remaining students were Narcissa, Lucius, a handful of frantically-studying fifth years, and a quiet, black-haired greasy-looking youth who was drooling on the table that pillowed his head. Narcissa put down her newspaper and stood, walking to the fireplace. A moment later, Lucius stood just behind her shoulder, placing one hand on the mantel near her head. Narcissa spoke quietly, her voice hiding a rare note of incredulity. “However did you do it, Malfoy?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Lucius, speaking airily but softly, near her ear. Some of her hair lift off her shoulder; Lucius rubbed it in between his fingers. “He had it coming, didn’t he? Daring to insult your family like he did.”

The heat from the fire made her feel flushed. “Thank you.”

His fingers slipped through her hair, landed lightly on her back. “Don’t thank me. I had nothing to do with it, remember?”  Narcissa didn’t say anything, wishing he would move back, not daring to move until he did. She could feel him close behind her – very close behind her – almost in his embrace, but not quite. At last, he did step back. “Good night, Black.”

*

Narcissa approached the black-haired first-year a few days later. "Narcissa Black," she introduced herself. "Sixth year. Who are you?"

The boy looked up. He had a sickly complexion and a solemn expression. "Severus Snape," he said.

"First year, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"I noticed you reading the Daily Prophet the other day. Are you following the news of the war?" He nodded. "Well. If you are concerned about it and the conservation of blood purity, you are welcome to join me and my friends in the Astronomy tower this evening. We're having a meeting."

Severus blinked up at her, his mouth partially open. Narcissa had been watching him for several days; she and Lucius were always on the lookout for new recruits. And her heart went out to this boy – he was always alone, unless he was with a redheaded Mudblood in Gryffindor.

She wanted to protect him.

"All right," he agreed.

"Then I'll see you soon," she said, holding out her hand. "Friends?"

He shook her hand. "Friends."


	3. Chapter 3

**PART 1 (continued)**

One unusually quiet night, when their two chairs were closer to each other than usual, Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black were discussing the difficult transfiguration lesson they had had where they conjured abnormally large spiders out of thin air, and one of the Ravenclaws had actually fainted at the sight of the ugly brute.

“I don’t think spiders are ugly,” said Narcissa.

“No?”

“No. Have you ever looked closely at one?” She drew her wand and held out her palm and a common spider spun into existence on her fingers. “They’re not just black or grey; they have colors and patterns. Have you ever watched one spin?" She lifted her hand so that the spider climbed over her fingertips in front of Lucius's face. His grey eyes followed its path. "They are dancers. They are the kings of their world. Their webs are nearly invisible but they are beautiful, translucent, woven mazes; spiders are artists. They are strategic and they are hunters; they are cunning. They eliminate pests; they are one of humankind’s best friends, and yet we fear them and kill them.” She twisted her hand as it climbed up and down across her palm, letting it explore.

Lucius leaned close, watching. Their heads nearly touched. “So you have no fear of them?”

“No.” She lowered her hand, offering it to Lucius. He placed his hand on top of hers, letting the spider cross over.

“Never?”

“I have always understood spiders. Since I was a little girl. I felt it was my duty, since no one else did.”

“So if someone were to call you a spider, you would not be insulted?”

“Not at all. It would be a compliment.” She swept her fingers across his palm, cupping the spider in her palm again. She touched it with her wand and it vanished.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Lucius brushed the back of her hand with his fingertips. She looked up and froze. Lucius had not moved back, and he was looking steadily at her from a few inches away. Her breath knotted in her throat and she bit her tongue. Her heart quickened and a flood of nerves overcame her. She stared, eyes slightly narrowed. After what felt like an eternity, Lucius glanced down and leaned back, dropping her hand. Goosebumps broke out on her neck. She merely nodded when Lucius said goodnight and left her sitting alone in the chair, wondering what had gone wrong.

*

An extremely nervous Slughorn threw another Christmas party, and Lucius Malfoy asked Narcissa Black to accompany him.

"You know, I'm Head Boy, and you're the Queen of Slytherin." Most boys would probably have leaned against the wall with arms crossed, or placed a hand on the back of her chair and smiled down at her, attempting to look casual and cool. Not Lucius Malfoy. He stood in front of her, making direct eye contact, smiling. His mouth wasn't quirking. Narcissa let her newspaper fall and frowned, pretending to not notice one of her most-clingy fifth-year followers, Mattie Shafiq, shoving her friend's shoulder and pointing at the pair of them from across the room.

Narcissa asked the logical question. "What about Georgia?"

"Oh." His gaze darted momentarily to the side and he rocked back on his heels. Then, just as quickly, he looked directly at her again. "We've split up. Last week."

"Oh," said Narcissa, trying to not feel the cold prick of satisfaction. Lucius Malfoy deserved better than her. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right," said Lucius quickly. "It was mutual. We were both just – well, we both thought it would happen eventually."

"Oh?" Narcissa turned a page in her newspaper, trying to conceal the surprising amount of glee welling up in her like an irresistible volcano.

"Yeah. Turns out my father's—well, we're good friends with the Greengrasses, you see."

The bubble burst; the cold melted and trickled back down to her core where it festered. She glanced up again. "Oh?"

"Yes, it's—" Lucius stopped short and took his hands out of his pockets, then put them back in. He hunched his shoulders. He looked slightly panicked. "It's just—you know how it is."

"Yes," said Narcissa with an angry knot in her throat. "I do."

Lucius paused a moment. "So…will you come with me?"

"I've been invited this year, you know," said Narcissa, turning another page even though she hadn't read any of the previous page. "I don't need your invitation to go."

"Yes, I know." Lucius had gotten a hold of himself again, Narcissa noted. He spoke with that same calm, patient tone he used with almost everybody. "I would like to go with you is all. I thought you might like to go with me." He paused, and then grinned and his mouth quirked. "It's my seventh year, my last Slug Club party. You aren't going to let me go stag, are you, Black?"

"You could ask anybody else, you know," said Narcissa, returning his calmness doggedly while she tried her best to not imagine practicing curses on the very attractive figure of a certain young Miss Greengrass. "Most of the girls in this school would pass out from excitement if you asked them—except perhaps some of the Gryffindors."

Lucius was silent for a long moment. "Well, I could," he said at last. "I don't really want to, though. But if you are going to say no, you really just ought to say it outright."

There was the slightest barb in his voice. It caught Narcissa off guard. Why was he upset? She had paid him a compliment. "I didn't say I was going to say no," said Narcissa, looking up at last. "Of course I'll go with you."

For the evening, Narcissa donned her most expensive finery—and true to her name, it was black, all lace and silk and a diamond choker. She held his arm for the entirety of the evening except for the moment when he went to get her punch and the one time they danced. The rest of the time Lucius and the other most ambitious used the time speaking with Slughorn about current events. Lucius spoke very diplomatically about how the loss of life was certainly regrettable, but Lord Voldemort did have some valid points about honoring the sacredness of magic within pureblood lines.

“He's not talking about honoring magic, he's talking about murdering and enslaving people," protested a half-blood with a slightly squashed nose. "Besides, if we never intermarried with Muggles, we wouldn’t survive. We would die out; some may not be able to find a spouse.”

Narcissa sipped her punch as she held Lucius’s left arm and said quietly, “If you can’t find a spouse, dear, that has more to do with your own person than the availability of marriageable wizards.” The half-blood went red and looked confused. Narcissa sipped her punch and turned her face towards the pureblood Hufflepuff with whom Lucius was deep in debate, pretending like she had not intended her comment as a personal insult.

Halfway through the evening and in brief moment where neither one of them was debating with anybody else, Lucius leaned down and whispered, "Is this boring you? I know it's the same thing we do every day.”

“This isn't boring me,” said Narcissa in her perfectly unexcited voice, sipping her punch. Lucius knew her well enough to know she meant it, so he smiled and re-entered the conversation. But his breath on her face had sent her heartbeat through the furthest reaches of her body and made her unable to concentrate on anything that was being said for a good three minutes.

At the evening’s end, they walked back to the dorms together, slowly, letting other couples disperse ahead of them, arguing about Slughorn.

“He’s intentionally ignorant,” said Narcissa.

“Slughorn is a dry, cautious old biscuit, no doubt about it, but he’s truly intelligent,” Lucius defended him with a light shrug.

“He has absolutely no vision at all,” Narcissa complained. “He doesn’t wish the world to change in any way.”

“True. He’s comfortable with the world as it is, with students pouring their gifts into his lap. It’ll make him all the easier to pass in rank, though, won’t it?” Lucius paused in front of the dungeon wall. The flickering lights made the shadows dance.

Narcissa smiled. “And you’ll be doing that soon, I’m sure.”

“As will you, no doubt.” He took her hands and turned to face her. They stood so close that she thought she could feel his body heat in the cool damp. Narcissa stood frozen to the spot, feeling the by-now familiar sensations of panic. Lucius touched her hair at her forehead, running his fingers down to its ends. Narcissa’s smile slid away as she lost her head and stood blankly as he said, "Thank you for allowing me to accompany you."

"Yes," said Narcissa without being conscious of what she was saying. She was looking at his face, but focused on what his fingers were doing at the nape of her neck. "It kept Travers at bay, anyway."

Lucius abruptly stepped back. “Good night, then." He hesitated, then kissed her hand with a flare and his mouth quirked, then he went through the doorway. Narcissa rubbed her cold hands together as her mind began to grind along again. She swayed on her feet, giving Lucius enough time to disappear into the boys’ dorm before entering the common room herself.

_I thought he was going to kiss me._

*

Narcissa Black saw almost nothing of Lucius Malfoy during finals week, they were both taking so many NEWTs. She didn't see him at all the last two days—not until the train ride home. Then she opened the door to his compartment, said, “Get out,” to the few star-struck Slytherins in there with him (she did not care that every other compartment was already crowded), and sat down next to him so they could both look at the opposite wall without looking at each other.

"So, how long until I start seeing your names in the papers?" he asked her.

"Another year at least," said Narcissa. "They don't let us do anything in here."

"Keep up the good work," said Lucius. "A lot happens in school that never reaches the papers; you know that."

"I think I'll be working with Severus Snape," said Narcissa.

"Snape?" said Lucius. "The first-year? Really?"

"He's quiet, but he's smart," said Narcissa. "He has his priorities in the right place."

"Isn't he friends with a Mudblood? That red-headed Gryffindor?"

"He'll come around. Besides, that obnoxious snot-nosed Potter has his eye on her. She won't last long in the blaze of his glory."

Lucius snorted. "I don't think I could call it _glory_ …"

"Oh, well, we'll see. I've never seen so much cheek in an eleven-year-old before."

Still without looking at him, Narcissa Black touched Lucius Malfoy’s hand and he gripped the ends of her fingers for a brief moment.

They spent the train ride in silence and got off together, then they looked directly each other for the first time as they faced each other in the station, prepared to go opposite ways.

“I suppose you will rise very quickly through Lord Voldemort’s ranks,” said Narcissa Black.

“I’ll not contradict you.” Lucius Malfoy’s mouth quirked. “You are a very clever woman, Narcissa Black.”

He held out a hand, she took it, and they shook, and he turned and left.

“Oh,” said a very disappointed voice behind her. Narcissa turned to see Mattie Shafiq watching Lucius Malfoy leave with a wistful look on her face. There were similarly disappointed faces behind her. “We all thought for sure you would kiss goodbye.”

“Why would we?” said Narcissa Black, feeling both startled and more forlorn than ever. “We never have before.”

*

Throughout her seventh year, among the pure-bloods, no one could ever be sure who Narcissa Black’s enemies were and where her loyalties lay because she kept them in the same group. But she did recruit more members of the Slytherin political group and the newest members by the time she left were Evan Rosier, Wilkes, Avery, Mulciber, and Regulus Black. Severus Snape was having difficulty with bullies from Gryffindor, but he was shaping up quickly, Narcissa thought. His knowledge of the Dark Arts was incredible for his age.

And throughout her seventh year Narcissa Black still did not have any friends.

*

Sometimes she sat down and picked up a quill and even set it against the paper, prepared to write a letter to the only person who ever seemed to really understand her. But she always hit up against the same wall: what did she have to say? Her life felt so dull and repetitive and asinine compared to what he was doing now, going with his father to political functions, the Ministry, perhaps soon secret meetings would be in the mix—

So instead she just responded to his occasional letters, expressing interest and making astute but brief political observations.

She didn't say much.

Letters were just not the same as conversations.

And eventually the letters slowed.

And then stopped.

*

Also during her seventh year, Druella Black died. Cygnus Black was distraught and the funeral was a very private affair. A very impatient and harried Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange were in attendance, and a quietly saddened Narcissa Black.

Lucius Malfoy was not there.

*

The summer after Narcissa Black’s graduation felt like a constant, distant thundercloud that continually threatened rain.

Bellatrix was gone.

Druella was gone.

Her other sister was as good as dead.

Cygnus liked to keep her close, and she read the newspapers aloud to him in the evenings and attended parties and social affairs at his side.

She thought it would be better than school.

It wasn't.

Cygnus, devastatingly lonely since his wife died, wanted her close. Perhaps he felt an irrational fear that she would leave him forever as well. But mostly, Narcissa thought, he wanted her comfort. He wanted her words.

And he wanted her silence.

And so she accompanied him everywhere he went. At first she loved to exit the house and see the real world now that she was a graduate. But her limited "real world," she soon discovered, consisted of Cygnus and his friends and partners. She was his replacement Druella while they were out. And whenever Cygnus and Druella went out, he spoke and she kept silent unless it was to agree with him. And so Narcissa experienced two situations repeatedly, neither one attractive in any way.

The first was to sit with her father while he and his fellow do-nothings sat and smoked and drank and complained about the current state of affairs and reminisced about the good-old-days when the hierarchy of magic was still in place and every pureblood family was akin to _royalty_ ; none of this aristocratic nonsense. Dull, dull, dull, and perfectly _idiotic._ Why sit and complain in the comfort of your like-minded acquaintances? What good did complaining do? Complaining about problems was one thing; acknowledging them and acting to solve them was another.

On the third of such occasions Narcissa pointed out this fact, which brought uncomfortable chuckling and tsking about Cygnus's feisty young daughter who thought she knew everything there was to know about the world and politics.

"I know a good deal more than—" Narcissa burst out, and Cygnus suddenly yanked her close and said in a tone of faux-merriment:

"Narcissa, Aganthe has said more than once you're welcome to join the other ladies, it would be rude to turn her down again."

Narcissa stared at him for an ugly brief second, then turned and walked calmly to the other side of the room, absolutely boiling inside. Though Cygnus's tendency to keep his wife with him at all times had been unusual, to be sent away (no, not just sent away, but _dismissed_ ) in this manner was still humiliating. And so she began to experience the second of these two situations—discoursing with the women. Surprisingly, this was much less frustrating than being with her father. At least here she could speak, and she had lots of practice dealing with the silliness of her schoolmates. And here it was the same—none of the women had seemed to have grown up at all. They were all still schoolgirls, complaining about husbands and children and comparing notes on the _Witch Weekly's_ Most Charming Smile Countdown and placing bets on who would win.

Nearly all of these women were decades older than her. So she half-listened, and often found herself imagining the incredible relief it would be for a striking figure to stride through the doors, blonde hair gleaming, the perfected, serene smile filling the room, grey eyes like thunderclouds filling her soul, and a strong but gentle hand taking her arm and lifting her up and rescuing her from this _drudgery._

"Narcissa!" barked the hostess, jerking her out of her reverie. "Which do you find to be the most reliable?"

Narcissa took a sip of tea to hide her confusion. "Hmm?"

"Madam Malkin's or Twilfitt and Tatting's?"  said Aganthe. "Both have shown awful negligence unless you breathe down their necks. Where do you get Cygnus's robes from?"

"I wouldn't know," said Narcissa, raising an eyebrow. "He orders his own robes."

"Oh, no surprise there," said Aganthe to the woman on her right, whose name Narcissa couldn't remember because she had the personality of a dry loaf of bread. "All of the young women are spoiled these days, and think they should be allowed to lounge about doing nothing for their fathers, even when their mothers are dead."

For a moment, Narcissa was lost for words. But only for a moment. "On the contrary, Mrs. Bulstrode, my father merely wants me to focus my talents on things other than middling housework that any house-elf could accomplish—if you've properly trained them, anyway. And besides," she set down her tea and stood up. "We've never had any trouble with our tailors. I believe they respect us too much to be negligent." Then she swept towards her father and feigned faintness. This was an antic Druella used to use when the company became too tedious. It worked; Cygnus grudgingly agreed to take her home.

*

“What do you think about Rabastan Lestrange?” Cygnus asked her one evening.

“Nothing,” said Narcissa Black, “Other than that he is my brother-in-law.”

“True,” said Cygnus. He was quiet for nearly a quarter of an hour. “Selwyn is looking to find a bride for his son.”

“That’s nice,” said Narcissa.

“He hasn’t approached me yet, but I could approach him. What do you think?”

“The Selwyns are a good family,” said Narcissa. She said nothing more than that, but let Cygnus continue debating in silence. Druella was the only one that could have swayed Cygnus in his thinking. For anyone else, including his daughters, if they opposed his plans outright he became obstinate. Only if they voiced opinions that he was already somewhat partial to could they influence his decisions. So after a moment she added, “I would hate to leave you alone in this house so soon after mother’s death.” Druella had died a year ago. This was Narcissa's way of delaying marriage, of getting more time.

(More time for what? She didn't have the courage to admit what it was she was waiting for.)

“True,” said Cygnus. “Perhaps not yet then.”

*

Bellatrix Lestrange and her husband came to visit them late one night in September. “Cissy!”

Narcissa hugged her tight in relief and anticipation of the excitement to follow. Bellatrix always brought excitement, even as her shadow of a husband followed her at her heel rather like a cocker spaniel. The sisters spoke long into the night after the men had gone to bed. But their conversation went in circles.

"Start talking," Narcissa begged, leaning forward in her eagerness. "Please, I'm starved."

Bellatrix laughed. "Starved for what?"

" _Anything._ Tell me everything—what are you doing? What's— _he_ like?"

"Oh, Cissy, you know I can't tell you everything," said Bellatrix with a wave of her hand. "We're not allowed."

"Then just tell me _something_. Tell me what you can." Bellatrix just laughed. "Merlin's sake, Bella, I'm not asking for you to lay bare the most secret blueprints—I just want to know what the world is like. What the _real_ world is like, not this cave of old men and women gossiping about dusty memories from decades ago."

So Bellatrix gave descriptions. "He's incredible—and powerful, in ways we can only begin to imagine. Even I don't know much about him. He can see things that we can't. He has powerful visions. He _understands_ the important of blood purity."

"Bella," Narcissa interrupted after several minutes of this vague, starry-eyed rambling. "Take me back with you."

Bellatrix blinked. "What?"

"I'll come with you," said Narcissa. "I'll go with you and Rodolphus."

Bellatrix laughed again. "Are you sure you want to?"

Narcissa didn't think it was funny. "Why wouldn't I?" she snapped. "Stop laughing!"

Bellatrix obeyed, but she leaned back and put her feet on the coffee table, still smiling—though it was a more sympathetic smile than her laugh had been. "All right. S'long as you can't wait to obey orders without question, no matter what the orders, no matter how little sense they make. S'long as you're ready to commit your literal life. S'long as you don't care how people will talk, wondering why you're skipping out to live with your sister instead of getting married. Say the word, and I'll take you."

The word was in her throat, rising up, slipping across her tongue, pushing against her lips, but Narcissa clamped her mouth shut and held the struggling word between her teeth. She put her head in her hands. "Merlin's beard, I'm an idiot."

"No arguments from me," said Bellatrix cheerfully, pouring herself another glass of wine.

"You did the smart thing," Narcissa continued from behind her hands as if she hadn't heard. "Just got married and had it done with. Would have made everything so much easier."

"It definitely simplifies things—at least when you marry a simpleton it does," mused Bellatrix.

"I should have just agreed to Selwyn."

Bellatrix choked on her wine, spilling it across her front. "Wait? What? Selwyn?"

"Adrian Selwyn," Narcissa mumbled. "Father suggested I marry him months ago. I put him off of it."

Bellatrix slammed down her glass. "How the _hell_ did you convince Dad to not marry you off?"

"Doesn't matter. God, why didn't I just say yes?"

Bellatrix patted herself down with a lace doily from the table and muttered under her breath, " _I_ could tell you…" Out loud, she said, "Well, I'll leave you to ponder that. I'm going to bed. Oh," she dug into a bag at her side. "I almost forgot. I brought you a present." She held out a magazine.

"A present?" Narcissa took the magazine, extremely puzzled. "But, why would I want a copy of _Witch Weekly_ …?" Her sentence did not stop abruptly in the middle, though her heart did, when she looked down and saw Lucius Malfoy looking back up at her and the headline, **_The Name of Malfoy Rises Again_**.

"Goodnight," said Bellatrix mischievously and she left.

"Goodnight," Narcissa said faintly. After a moment, she took the magazine to her room. She intended to flip through to the article that matched the cover, but she stopped on a laminated page for paid advertisements and announcements because there—there was Andromeda smiling and waving and the parasite she had married and in her arms was a new addition.

 ** _Andromeda and Ted Tonks Announce the Birth of Their Daughter_** , read the caption. Narcissa quickly turned the page over, wondering only briefly why the private, quiet, studious Andromeda would do something so vain and expensive as to put a paid advertisement in Witch Weekly to show off her half-breed child.

It wasn’t until several years later that Narcissa realized it was probably because that was the only way Andromeda could hope to tell her sisters the news.

She found the article about Lucius Malfoy and read about his accomplishments and his connections in the Ministry. There was another photo of him at a social gathering, and Narcissa Black’s heart bled a little because on his arm was the stunning social butterfly and cunning politician young Miss Greengrass. That relationship got its own little piece of gossip—all speculation, because nothing had been said officially.

“I’m sorry about Andromeda,” Narcissa said to Bellatrix the next morning.

“What?” Bellatrix lowered her voice and looked over her shoulder. “Be quiet, Cissy, what are you talking about?”

“I was meant to protect her,” said Narcissa. “And keep her from that company, and I failed.”

“No,” said Bellatrix. She slapped Narcissa’s shoulder, and then her look softened and she hugged her instead. “No, if it’s anybody’s fault it’s _mine_. And even if it isn’t my fault, it most certainly isn’t yours. _She_ betrayed her family. She betrayed _us_. She cut herself off, and that’s not our doing.”

Narcissa thought Bellatrix was wrong. Andromeda hadn’t betrayed them; she had been poisoned.

“You should meet him, Cissy,” Bellatrix spoke quietly with her the morning of her departure. “He’s passionate, and powerful, and he’s done things you wouldn’t believe – he is stretching the possibilities known to Wizarding kind. He is going to live forever.”

Narcissa Black watched the passion in Bellatrix's eyes, and she suddenly thought it rather absurd that she had married Rodolphus Lestrange.

“Narcissa,” said Cygnus that evening. “Where is the newspaper? Why are you reading that gossip tablet?”

Narcissa Black was looking at the photo of Lucius Malfoy again. She noticed that the quirk in his mouth was gone. “Bella gave it to me,” she said, and then she threw it in the fire.

*

Narcissa Black turned twenty. She had graduated from Hogwarts two years ago, the Wizarding War had been going on for five years, and her life had dried to a dull, useless piece of musty leather. She still listened, of course, and she watched, but she could not plan. She listened most hard for tales of Bellatrix, a lonely, jealous ache deep in her stomach. She continued visiting some families, of course. And it even got a little more interesting, as everyone was beginning to distrust each other—even those who were good friends with her father, like Selwyn. And speaking of Selwyn, Narcissa resigned herself to her eventual fate. She could do worse than Selwyn, after all. Travers, for instance, or Rabastan Lestrange. Lillian Burke had finally broken up with Selwyn and was chasing a member of the Shafiq family, so at least she didn’t have to worry about alienating her old schoolmate. And Selwyn seemed to understand her feelings. He gave her grimacing, apologetic I-don’t-mind-if-you-don’t-but-sorry-this-is-awkward smiles across the dinner table as their two fathers spoke and pretended like this wasn’t all a set-up.

She had tea with her potential sisters-in-law and they glared sideways at her while they spoke pleasantly of safe, boring subjects that were not politics. It drove Narcissa mad, because she couldn’t even _play_ politics; she had to be pleasant because she might marry into their family, and not pleasant because she had her own motives. And yet, despite the drudgery – or perhaps because of it – she began, unconsciously, to learn facts and anecdotes about each family and family member and file them away. Pieces of gossip were often trash, but trash – when applied to the correct situation – could be useful. Useful for what, she didn't know. And when she would ever be in a position where she could use this information, she didn't know. But she did it anyway, and read the newspapers, and waited. And as she waited, even her old school friendships became distant and the hard shell around her soul thickened and hardened from excessive hiding.

Imagine her excitement, then, when Cygnus said rather wearily, “Narcissa, look what’s come in the mail. The Minister is asking for a gathering of his oldest friends and contributors. He would like a private meeting this afternoon with all of us. Discussing the rebellion and so forth.”

“That’s wonderful, Father.” Narcissa put down her book (she had already read the newspaper twice that day) and hastily stood. “I’ll go change.”

“No, Narcissa, don’t,” said Cygnus. “I'll go on my own.”

“But—”

“He asks only for specific names,” said Cygnus. “And none of them are you; you don’t know him, after all.”

Narcissa gave a disbelieving laugh. “So? I’m your daughter.”

“He is very specific, Narcissa,” said Cygnus, his obstinacy showing. “I’ll hear no more about it.”

Narcissa sat back down, placed her hands on the armrests, and crossed her legs. “Very well. I’ll just stay here by myself then, shall I?” Her code of calm shattered when he left without answering. She glared at the fire, she tapped out rhythms on the chairs, she practically snarled at the house-elf who tried to ask if she needed anything, she got up and she paced, she looked at the newspapers. “I’m going to go mad,” she said aloud, and then she said silently (in case any house-elves were about), “I’ll have to start going out without his knowledge. History is happening now, on my very doorstep, and I’m reading about it in _newspapers._ Perhaps he’ll allow me to stay with Bella?” Unfortunately, she never knew where Bella and her husband were. They flited from place to place; they were known to be on the Minister’s black list (no pun intended). All she knew was that as long as she remained here, doing things such as organizing a family gathering in July (two months away, and an affair that would probably end up with members of nearly all of the Sacred Twenty-Eight in attendance and be covered by multiple _Witch Weekly_ articles), she would explode. Or worse, become one of those dry, boring, tittering idiots that she visited every week.

When Cygnus returned late that evening, Narcissa was even colder than usual. She didn’t speak unless spoken to, she responded in very short words, she sat very straight, she looked everywhere but at Cygnus, she actually wanted to weep in frustration. But she was Narcissa Black, so she didn’t.

“There were a good many influential people there,” said Cygnus while they ate a late dinner at the long, empty table. “It was curious seeing them all again. I believe the Minister was testing us and trying to decide whom he could trust.” Narcissa didn’t respond or give any sign that she’d heard. “Narcissa? Are you all right?”

“I’m tired,” said Narcissa in a clipped voice.

“Tired of staying here with me, no doubt. Selwyn sent me another owl about his son yesterday.” Several long minutes passed, in which they had a soup, and a salad, and a roasted ham, and began on a pudding that Narcissa was not hungry for. “That boy, Lucius Malfoy, was there as well.” Narcissa inserted her fork into the chocolate but she didn’t raise it. “Only twenty-one, but out of all of us I do believe he is the only one who has the Minister completely in his pocket. He’s all but already Lord of his own manor, you know. His father's suffering from the dragon pox. There's no telling how long he'll last. But his son…he carries himself like a king, that one. You knew him in school, didn’t you?”

“I did,” said Narcissa Black, and she took a bite of the chocolate.

“I thought so. We spoke. He mentioned you.”

Narcissa glanced up. She didn’t mean to, but she looked at her father. Fortunately, he was looking down at his own plate so he didn’t see her break character and she had time to recover.

“Actually, you seemed to come up casually, but I rather think he intended to bring you up all along.” Narcissa gave up all pretense of eating and simply tried to look bored as she held her fork and studied her uneaten pudding. “He asked how I would feel about him marrying you. I told him I would ask you.”

Narcissa dropped the fork. It made a loud clatter that echoed in the dining room. She had to close her eyes and take a deep breath. Then she looked up and said, quite frankly, “I would prefer Malfoy to Selwyn.”

Cygnus took another bite and chewed slowly. “How do you feel about July?”

“What?”

“To be honest, Narcissa, I’ve put this off too long. The world is too unsteady. I would like to see you settled. The family gathering is in the second week of July. If Lucius finds it agreeable, we can announce the engagement officially the first of the week, and have you married by the end.”

Narcissa Black would have never expected this in a thousand years of possibilities.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains so much awkward.

**PART 2**

**Remember When We Were Married in Love and Death?**

Cygnus waited a week before sending an owl to Malfoy. “We don’t want to appear over-eager, Narcissa.” (As if the politically shrewd Narcissa Black needed to be told this.) Two days later an owl delivered a package in the afternoon. Cygnus was napping, so Narcissa opened it privately.

The small package contained a pair of earrings. They were made of clear pearls, and delicate strands of sprouting, curling silver. The pearl and the silver together formed a spider.

_Narcissa,_

_I have had these for some time now, and I have greatly anticipated the day I might have the privilege of having a legitimate reason to send them to you._

_I await you in July._

_Lucius_

*

Bellatrix somehow escaped the pressures of her life and came early, the day before the second week in July, and flung herself at her sister. “Cissy! I am so happy for you!” She released her and spun in a circle, admiring the décor and sniffing the air appreciatively. “I love what you’ve done with the place. But have you had no help?”

“It’s my wedding, Bella,” said Narcissa calmly. “If someone else were to do it, it would not match my expectations.”

Bella grinned. Her smile had gone crooked, and her hair looked frizzled. “I knew this would happen,” she said. “I knew it would, ever since Mum and Dad tried to get me engaged to him.”

Narcissa’s stomach dropped. “What?”

“After I graduated,” Bellatrix giggled. “It was a little ridiculous, of course, we weren’t terribly close to the Malfoys, but they were the most beneficial potential match, and I was the eldest, so best match = eldest daughter…well!” She grinned at Narcissa, who just stared. “Cissy?”

“You were going to be engaged?”

“Yes—well, Mum and Dad were going to try to get us engaged.”

“Why weren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t let them, of course.”

“Why not?”

Bellatrix’s eyebrows rose. “Really, Cissy? There was no perceivable reason for me to marry Lucius. You were so obviously in love with him and I did not particularly care one way or the other.”

Narcissa felt a humiliating heat rise in her cheeks. “You knew?”

“You were very obvious, Cissy. To me, that is, not the rest of the school. I daresay Malfoy himself had no idea. I would be surprised if he knows now.”

Narcissa desperately tried to steer the conversation away from Malfoy. “How did you convince them otherwise?”

Bellatrix spoke in a high-pitched voice, imitating her younger self. “Lucius Malfoy, that great man-child? Certainly not. I’d like to see you try. Marry me off to one of the Lestrange brothers, or Selwyn, or even Travers, or don’t marry me off at all.” She grinned. “And because the Malfoys were practically married to the Greengrasses, mum and dad couldn't sway them without my cooperation. I didn’t mean a whit of it, of course. I would have married Malfoy and been just as happy as I am married to Lestrange." She pretended to gag herself. "But you would have been miserable married to anybody else.” She cocked her head. “Has he come to visit?”

“No,” said Narcissa, and the next words felt ominous and doomed as she said them, “Not since he graduated. I haven’t seen him for three years.”

*

It was the first day and Narcissa Black, to all appearances, had nothing important on her mind. Her slim figure elegantly draped in black and deep purples, her hair swept into complicated, sideways knots, her jewelry minimal and tasteful. Her new earrings were upstairs in their box, positioned in front of her mirror. The guests began arriving. The drapes over the windows were tied back, the back gardens (invisible to the nearby Muggle houses) were full to bursting of summer flowers and butterflies and sleepy birds. The day was surprisingly cool and a bit cloudy, and the doors heading out to verandas were flung open to let in fresh breezes.

Narcissa Black smiled and greeted and ordered their two elves to take bags and parcel out the closest family members to special guest rooms. All who were not closely related enough in blood to be housed in the Black mansion had rooms in nearby inns—except for one guest who had no near blood relation, not yet.

Narcissa Black’s head buzzed and she felt frayed at the edges, but her mind was clear enough from the tonic she’d drunk that morning to pretend to be calm and practical. The stream of guests finally ended, and a luncheon was being served on the front lawn. Narcissa stepped outside and closed her eyes a moment, one hand on the porch railing. She took a deep breath.

“Mistress,” squeaked the pixie-like house-elf who had gotten the job of being at the beck and call of every single guest in attendance. “Lucius Malfoy.”

Narcissa opened her eyes as the house-elf spoke and she locked gazes with Malfoy as he came up the path to the front. Her heart pounded in her ears. He had grown taller and lost the last ounce of boyishness that had lurked around his jaw when she’d last got her good look at him in King's Cross station. His eyes struck her and his clothes were, as usual, tailored exactly to him, and she could see the powerful frame they were hiding.

“Narcissa,” said Lucius Malfoy. His voice had changed. She couldn't quite explain what the difference was. It was simultaneously softer and stronger.

Narcissa found her voice. “Mr. Malfoy,” she said without emotion and she didn’t know it, but the fear and nerves froze her face and made her look extremely severe. So she held out her hand, wondering if he would do that bow that suited him, and felt a bitter stab of disappointment when he simply clasped her fingers briefly. “Show Mr. Malfoy to his room,” she told the house-elf and she didn’t know it, but Lucius Malfoy looked back over his shoulder at her, and a little prickle of doubt crossed his features.

After he left Narcissa let out a gasp and gripped the railing again, feeling cold sweat on the back of her neck.

*

Late that afternoon, Cygnus called everyone into the Great Room—a wide expanse that could be a ballroom, or simply serve as a large reception area as it did now. He stood on a little box, and Narcissa stood on one side. On her way to stand at his other side, Bellatrix elbowed her and hissed in her ear, “Loosen up, Cissy, you look like you’re ready to kill someone.” In her own place, Bellatrix looked extremely bored, but she sent a wink in Narcissa’s direction. Narcissa still looked severe, but she still didn’t know it. She was trying too hard to not let the nerves show, especially because Lucius Malfoy stood in the crowd, one hand in his pocket, the other hanging at his side, speaking pleasantly to a great-uncle of hers. He did not appear at all concerned about the life-changing announcement that was about to be made. He had not spoken to her again since arriving. She had drunk another tonic and was trying too hard not to look at him.

“My Lords and Ladies,” said Cygnus, leaning on his cane and standing very straight at the same time (it was a little-known talent of his). “Thank you and welcome once again to our home. We are ecstatically pleased that you have found time to grace us with your presence here—” Narcissa usually listened to these speeches, but she found that she could not. Cygnus, she knew, would speak of their family, of the importance of family blood (with hidden messages about pureblood lineage), and speak fondly of Druella, and then—

“I know she would be most pleased with what I am about to tell you now—” said Cygnus. Narcissa looked straight ahead. She felt and saw Lucius looking at her, but she looked past the heads of their guests and at nothing. “It is with great satisfaction that I tell you all this will not simply be a reunion of old family and friends—” Narcissa was very conscious of the work it took to breathe in, breathe out. “—but the creation of new family. It is with great pride that I tell you all that, at the end of the week, my beloved youngest daughter will be wed to none other than…Lucius Malfoy!”

Wild applause broke out and Lucius, smiling, strode forward and took his place beside Narcissa. Narcissa still stared straight ahead, ears ringing in the noise, and not hearing the end of the speech. But she knew when it ended because murmurs broke out and the crowd broke into fluid motion and faintly familiar faces came to congratulate her and she hugged and kissed everybody in a blur. She and Lucius moved about the room, side-by-side, speaking to people together, and yet separately.

“I’m so happy for you,” said a third-cousin with a smile that tried and failed to hide sharpness.

Lucius spoke after the cousin wandered away and it took Narcissa a startlingly long time to realize he was speaking to her. “It’s most unfortunate she feels she cannot trust me.”

“Yes,” said Narcissa after several awkward seconds. “She doesn’t trust me either. I hear she has a Muggle for a goddaughter.”

Lucius kept up the conversation by asking her about the various guests, but in between the questions there were long awkward pauses in which they both nursed slowly-warming drinks. Narcissa concentrated on keeping her cool, which had the unfortunate effect of making her look simultaneously bored and disdainful. More than once, Lucius moved as if to ask her something, but each time he stopped himself.

As the night waned the crowd and guests began to disperse. When only a few late-drinkers remained (they would be here until the early hours of the morning) Narcissa put distance between her and Lucius. She turned her back to him and set down her empty glass on the table.

“Thank you for coming,” she said quietly. “I hope you sleep well.” She turned and glanced at his face without meeting his eyes and then started away.

Lucius started after her and then stopped. “Goodnight,” he called. “Narcissa.”

She hesitated. “Goodnight,” she said over her shoulder and then escaped to her room. It took her a very short time to get to sleep, surprisingly. But Lucius Malfoy lay awake for a much longer time.

 _What have I done_? he wondered.

*

The next day passed with even more discomfort, if that was possible. Lucius Malfoy gave up trying to get Narcissa to speak to him, and instead he milled around with her relations (and often their mutual relations) and discretely caught glimpses of her doing the same. He hoped that she would seek him out after several hours of this, but she never did. Never once did he see her give anyone a smile beyond the disdainful one she wore so often. He frowned, and spent the afternoon in a long, internal struggle. He could keep his peace and change nothing, or he could speak and potentially ruin everything. He didn’t know which option would make him more miserable. Perhaps she didn’t care; perhaps only he did. Perhaps if he didn’t ask her he could continue in blissful self-inflicted ignorance. But he made a resolution as he stood by himself, stealing glances through the long windows at Narcissa out on the lawn, growing more conflicted and miserable with each look. He would have to speak to her. Would it dash long-desired dreams?—yes, probably. But so would making a massive, drawn-out mistake that could contribute to lifelong disappointment.

Narcissa, grateful that Lucius had left her alone for the majority of the day, escaped to a small sitting room with Cygnus and her Aunt Walburga late that evening. Walburga chattered incessantly, congratulating Cygnus on his choice and giving Narcissa many unwanted tips.

“I’ve noticed you have not been too familiar with him, Narcissa. That’s good. Just what I would do. Keep him guessing. Make him unsure of your favor. Make him fight to earn your respect. Keep it up after the wedding too. Don’t let him close to you until at least a week later. Frustrate him. Act fickle. In fact…I know consummating on the first night is necessary, but when he comes at you in following nights, ready to do you-know-what, tell him—”

Cygnus noisily cleared his throat. “Walburga, how about those boys of yours? Getting along, I hope?”

Narcissa shot Cygnus a grateful look that he pretended not to see while Walburga happily changed subjects and began complaining about Sirius’s friendship with some families of questionable loyalties and gushing over the fantastic reports of Regulus. Regulus was here, as was suitable. Sirius had refused to come. Narcissa gazed into the fire and, letting the stress drip away, drank a few more cups of wine than was her normal limit. Walburga excused herself and tottered out of the room. Cygnus cleared his throat, said a few words that Narcissa only half-heard, and left.

There were voices outside still from the late-goers. Narcissa sank further into her chair, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. She had no desire to leave the sitting room any time soon.

“Mistress?” queried the pixie-like house-elf.

Narcissa wordlessly held out her glass and the house-elf refilled it. A few moments later the door opened. Narcissa quickly sat up, cursing herself for not leaving and escaping to the privacy of her bedroom while she’d had the chance.

“Narcissa?” She blinked, looking stupidly at the silhouette in the doorway. “Can I have a word?”

Oh _damn_ it was Lucius. She nodded, then shook herself and cleared her throat. “Yes, of course, come in.” She looked for the house-elf. “Give Mr. Malfoy some—uh—refreshments,” she said, then rubbed her forehead. She’d drunk too much. She looked up as Lucius sat across from her, accepting a glass from the house-elf. He leaned back and crossed his legs. She cleared her throat. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Yes, thank you.” Lucius held up his glass and watched the liquid swirling inside of it. “Your home is charming.”

Narcissa straightened her back. Her hand was shaking, so she held her glass between both hands to prevent sloshing. “Thank you.”

“You made the preparations for this week?”

“Yes.”

Lucius smiled at his glass. “Shrewd politician and homemaker extraordinaire both. Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Forgive Muggle-borns,” said Narcissa without thinking. Lucius chuckled and she half-smiled. A little of the tension lifted. She waited silently, simultaneously wishing he would leave and wanting him to stay. She became aware of him looking at her and she raised her eyes. His form in the flickering light was mesmerizing and it fogged her brain.

Lucius lowered the glass. “Narcissa, do you want to marry me?” Narcissa blinked. What? "I'm sorry. I realize this is an unorthodox time to ask. But I get the feeling that – well, your answer is important to me."

Narcissa opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She panicked. "I…" How should she answer? It was so obvious, but—what did he mean? What feeling did he get? Why would he ask such a thing? “I…said yes, didn’t I?” she stuttered, embarrassed by her lack of refinement. She resolved to never over-indulge in alcohol again unless confined in her private room.

“We both know that doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” Lucius said, looking extremely serious. “Do you (yourself) want (have a real desire to) marry me, specifically.”

Narcissa flushed and fumbled with her glass. “You—I mean, you’re—”

“It’s a simple question, Narcissa. No right or wrong answer, I just want to know. Yes or no?”

“Malfoy—”

“That’s another thing,” Lucius interrupted, his voice suddenly loud. “We aren’t schoolmates anymore. We’re engaged, dammit, call me by my name— _sorry._ ” Narcissa stared at him. Lucius rubbed his fingers across his eyes. “Sorry. Sorry, I didn’t want to—I’ll just go. Shouldn’t have disturbed you, I’ve had too much to drink. We can talk about this tomorrow. Or not. If you don’t want to. I’ll go.” He got to his feet and went to the door. Narcissa felt tied down for just a moment. But the very centerpiece of her suddenly roared to life.

_Stop him. Stop him now, Narcissa Black. Stop him!_

She jumped to her feet. “Yes.”

Lucius paused, half-turned. “Yes, what?”

The room swayed slightly. Narcissa went partway to the door, gripping the back of one of the high-backed loveseats. “Yes, I want to marry you. Of course I do.”

Lucius looked unconvinced. “All right,” he said, turning to go again.

“Lucius!” He stopped again. “Turn around,” Narcissa ordered, still without thinking. He did so with raised eyebrows. “I’m sorry. I’ve been rude. I’m extremely nervous, that’s all. And I wasn’t sure you were…” she waved a hand in his direction. “…keen.”

“Keen,” Lucius repeated. Narcissa nodded. “Are you serious?”

It was Narcissa’s turn to scowl. “Well, you haven’t exactly made it obvious.”

Lucius stared at her with an odd expression on his face, as if he couldn't decide whether he was annoyed or perplexed. “…I asked you to marry me.”

“You just _said_ that doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” she protested. Then added, “And you asked my father, not me. I didn’t hear from you for years.”

“All right. True,” Lucius admitted. “But to be fair, you didn’t make it obvious either. I wrote you. I always began the conversations. You responded to what I said but you never _told_ me anything."

"I didn't have anything to say!" Narcissa protested, feeling sudden pangs of hurt. "That was school. You were out doing – you know, and I was stuck behind doing the same old things."

The annoyance in Lucius's face was winning. "You know that what we did in school was important! We both knew! I _told_ you so right before I left, I asked you in the letters, I _wanted_ to know. You cut me off. You've cut me off repeatedly. I have…" he slowed, and his gaze flickered away. "I have come very close several times to kissing you, you know. When we were in school.”

“Really?” Narcissa stepped back. Her mind was staggering in circles, mixed with alcohol and the strong desire to burst into tears. (She didn't. Narcissa Black never cried.) She whispered, “Why didn’t you?” _I wanted you to,_ she added silently.

“Every time I thought about it you glared at me,” said Lucius, raising his eyebrows again. “Like you were doing the night of the announcement, or whenever I tried to talk to you for the past two days.”

 _“Loosen up, Cissy, you look like you_ _’re ready to kill someone._ ”

Narcissa almost laughed; the noise that came out of her throat sounded more like a sob. Lucius looked startled. Narcissa regained her composure and cleared her throat.  "I never pushed you away," she protested. "I never stopped you. You did the stopping on your own."

"Don't!" The annoyance was changing. It looked like anger now. "Don't you _dare_."

"Don't tell me what to do!" Narcissa snapped. "And don't tell me what I wanted you to do – I think I know that myself!"

"You have a funny way of showing it, Black," said Malfoy in a very low, very tight tone.

"Oh, I do, do I?" She was losing control again; damn the alcohol. She felt her blood running hot.

"Would you like an example, or ten? Remember the Christmas party of my seventh year? Remember when we spoke outside of the dorms?"

"Very well," said Narcissa, she looked at her hand as it gripped the back of the chair. She forced it to relax. "I was waiting for you to kiss me."

"Oh, you were? Were you thinking about kissing me when you informed me that you had only gone with me to escape Travers?"

Narcissa's gaze snapped back to his face. Her mouth dropped open. " _What_?"

"Or perhaps all the other times where I got close to you and you shifted away, leaned back, narrowed your eyes at me?"

Narcissa gritted her teeth. "All right, then, what about Georgia Parkinson?"

Lucius instantly looked guarded. "What about her?"

"You liked me so much you decided to go out with her?"

"I like Georgia Parkinson!"

Narcissa laughed, and it was shrill and cruel. The sound startled her, and she was reminded, for some reason, of Bellatrix. This was petty. This was so _petty_ , arguing about ex-girlfriends from school days. But she couldn't stop herself. "Her? Really, _her_? With her, ' _Really,_ Lucius' and 'why are you involved with anything important, Lucius' and 'just come gab to me about intelligent things that mean nothing at all, Lucius.' "

"She's not like that and you know it. We both knew it wouldn't last long, we were friends is all."

"Oh, yes, friends," said Narcissa. "You certainly _acted_ like 'just friends' to be sure. Is that how you hoped to make me jealous? Being 'just friends' with Georgia?"

"What? No! I wasn't trying to make you jealous. My life doesn't revolve around you, you know."

"Oh, no? Then what else was this 'nothing will come of it' relationship, with her hanging on your arm all day and you snogging her face off during Quidditch and – "

"Wait a moment." Lucius' eyes widened. " _Were_ you jealous?"

"What?" Narcissa released the chair and folded her arms. "No!"

Lucius's eyes glinted. "I think you were. Maybe you didn't want me yourself, but you're petty enough to not want a perfectly nice woman like Georgia to be happy with anybody."

Narcissa's throat constricted. Red lined the edges of her vision. The room swayed. She grabbed the chair again. "Don't call me petty. We've been friends for ages. You know I'm not _petty_."

"Actually," said Lucius, looking her in the eyes questioningly. "I'm not sure I know you at all." He took a step towards her. She took a step back. "You're intelligent, certainly. Admired, of course. You always know the correct things to say. I don't think I've seen you falter once."

"Thank you," said Narcissa coldly.

Lucius shook his head. "That wasn't a compliment. You're proud. Too proud, maybe."

"You're one to talk," shot back Narcissa. ( _Oh, if only she were sober! She could think of much better comebacks than this!_ )

"I'm proud," said Lucius. "But the difference between us? You've seen my faults. You've seen me make mistakes. You don't show anybody any vulnerable part of you."

"So?" said Narcissa.

Lucius shook his head and stepped back. "I don't know."

"That's settled, then," said Narcissa. Her anger had drained away, as had her hurt and her sadness. She felt very numb. "You don't want to marry me."

Lucius gave her a sharp look. "Why do you say that?" He didn't contradict her. Narcissa felt a little faint. She couldn't see clearly and she took a moment to focus on her breathing. She was at the end of her rope. She didn't care what Cygnus thought; she would run away and join Bellatrix. Lucius stood there, watching her. He actually expected an answer.

"Because I'm not close to anybody," said Narcissa, feeling very thoughtful. She didn't forget that Lucius was there, but she almost forgot she was speaking out loud and that he could hear her.

_It's all over. The dream is gone. He can't be happy with me._

"Because I look at people like I look at puzzles. As pieces to be shifted into staircases." Lucius stepped forward, slowly. Gaze intense and searching. He stared at her face. She could see his eyes flickering back and forth, as if hunting an elusive object; an elusive object in the storm of his eyes. What was he looking for?

"Because I wanted you to kiss me all those times. Because I still want you to. Because I've been in love with you since I was eleven years old and I'm incapable of showing it." Gravity shifted and she staggered as the room tipped. She felt more than saw Lucius close the distance between them and take her wrist in a gentle but firm grip that steadied her. She looked up and spoke, deadpan, "Because I'm cold."

Lucius still looked at her intensely, mouth in a serious line. Then his hand shifted slightly; it turned so that his fingers brushed the underside of her wrist and her palm slid against his; his gaze flickered downward. The subtle change in body language threw her into confusion, and what happened next occurred too quickly for her to realize it was coming.

"No," said Lucius seriously and in a near-whisper that sent his breath across her face. ( _He'd been drinking, Narcissa realized. When had he gotten this close to her?_ ) "I don't think you are." Then he kissed her. And even then, it took Narcissa a long time to realize what was happening. Her mind revolved from Lucius holding her hand, to Lucius standing this close, to Lucius's other hand combing through her hair and resting against her neck, to—finally—his lips touching her in a gentle, barely-there, almost innocent manner. Then he straightened and his lips curved slightly.

"I think that's settled then," he said.

Narcissa still couldn't think. "You've been drinking whisky," she said faintly.

Lucius laughed. "It's a weakness of mine, I admit."

"Wine is mine," she said. And she thought, _how stupid, he's just kissed me for the first time and we're standing here talking about drinks._ His hand, still on her neck, slipped to her chin. Narcissa dropped his other hand and stepped back, pressing her palm to her forehead and slowly shaking her head.

"Something wrong?" asked Lucius. She looked hastily up. The uncertainty had returned.

"No," she said, and then she spoke quickly and said too much. "And yes. You've just kissed me and I want to throw myself back at you, and it's late, and we're not yet married, and the family is just outside, and anyone could come in any moment, and we've just fought, and we nearly called it off I think, and then we didn't, and you kissed me, and I've had far too much to drink."

Lucius just smiled. "I'll leave you for tonight, then." He started towards the door.

"Lucius," Narcissa said. Lucius turned, and he was still smiling and his eyes were alive. "You don't think I'm cold? Why not?"

"No," said Lucius. "And I think so because of what you just said. I don't think you're cold. I think you've had far too much practice pretending to be so."

He left, and the casing around Narcissa's soul cracked and a small piece fell away.

*

When Narcissa Black woke the next morning, she spent a full half-hour agonizing over the previous evening, horrified about the things she'd said, conflicted about kissing Lucius while (slightly) drunk – but still, even after all of that, he'd kissed her. The air felt clearer, and more awkward, and she felt more vulnerable but closer to him. Like they shared a secret that she couldn't remember. And so, she descended the stairs from her bedroom the next day wearing new, beautiful earrings in the shape of spiders. Catching Lucius’s eye, she pulled back her hair to expose her ears and Lucius grinned. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, not speaking much again except in polite tones. Both felt slightly embarrassed, but in a comfortable way. Lucius cupped Narcissa’s slender hand in his large one and she laced her fingers through his and twisted his ring on his finger. He pulled back her hair, letting his hands linger on her neck and shoulders, under the pretense of wanting her to show off her unusual choice of jewelry.

"Where is Bellatrix?” Lucius asked suddenly when they had a moment to themselves standing under a willow tree in the back gardens. “I haven’t seen her today.”

“She had to leave again." Narcissa took a sip of punch. "She’ll be back for the wedding.”

“And Rodolphus?”

“I don’t know. He’s only her arm-candy so it’s hard to say whether he’ll be with her or not.”

“That’s a little harsh.”

“That’s my sister. I daresay Rodolphus knew what he was getting.”

They were silent for another long moment. Lucius leaned against the tree and tilted his head back to look upwards. Narcissa glanced about her, checking for potential accosters, before reaching over and touching his fingers. “You still wear the ring,” she said, as if noticing it for the first time.

“I don’t have anyone else to give it to yet,” said Lucius. He lifted his hand, turning it over and lacing his fingers through hers. He looked at her and smiled and her heart rate sped. And for a brief moment she debated how risky it would be to kiss him again, in the open. Lucius straightened, pushing away from the tree. He started to lean forward, but then his gaze went behind her. Narcissa pulled her hand away from his and turned around to see Aunt Walburga waddling towards them.

Narcissa forced a smile. "Hello, Aunt, how are you?"

Her aunt's sharp gaze went from her to Lucius as she grumbled, "Much too sunny for this part of the country, it's unnatural." Then her lips pulled back from her teeth in a grin. "But of course even a hot day couldn't disturb the finery that you have put together, my dear, it's really quite amazing, you have talent in you."

"Thank you, Aunt," said Narcissa, without any real gratitude. It was one thing when Lucius, who understood her political aptitude, complimented her on running a house – it was another when her aunt did it.

"Ah, my dear, what an exquisite choice of jewelry!" Walburga cupped her hand around one of Narcissa's ears. "A beautiful and unique choice. I haven't seen you with them before."

"No you haven't. Lucius gave them to me." Narcissa announced in triumph, stepping back to pull Lucius into the conversation. He gave a small bow. Walburga's lips flattened.

"—though, really, they are a little gaudy, dear. All right for a private party, I suppose, but you won't be wearing them in public, will you?"

Lucius's eyebrows rose a fraction. Narcissa's cheeks burned with a mix of anger and embarrassment. Why did relatives have to be so obnoxious? "Actually, I thought I might wear them everywhere," said Narcissa stubbornly.

Walburga grabbed her arm. "Give us a moment, will you?" to Lucius, and then she pulled Narcissa to the side and spoke in a quiet voice. "I would really advise against it, dear, you don't want to look like one of those impertinent, flighty, empty-headed women, do you? That's the very definition of 'gaudy.' And of course, that speaks volumes about how Lucius expects you to act – like an idiotic trophy wife that he has on a leash. And if you wear them, and if you let him know you like them, he'll expect you to submit willingly to that sort of treatment."

Narcissa stared at her aunt for a moment. "I'll keep that in mind. Will you let me go now? Lucius might get…suspicious."

The negative connotation worked. Walburga let her go with a knowing nod. She called out to Lucius, "Been drinking, have you?"

Lucius blinked. "Well—"

"'Course you have. All young engaged people do." She gave Narcissa another _just-like-a-man_ look and waddled away. She had a slight bounce in her step. Narcissa slunk back to Lucius, eyes downcast.

"I am so sorry about that."

"She's a character," said Lucius. Narcissa risked a glance at his face, and was shocked by the amused expression there. "What does she have against me?"

"It's not you, personally," said Narcissa. "I suppose she must have had a very bad marriage."

Lucius coughed into a handkerchief – or was it a laugh? "I wish my uncle was still alive. We could have set them up. They would have had great fun complaining about each other."

Narcissa stared at him, and then she cracked a smile. Another piece of the casing fell from her soul.

*

Weddings were important affairs, Narcissa knew. They were the official establishment of social ties, they were a display of power and status, they were political, and for these reasons Narcissa had always found them interesting. But her own couldn’t have bored her more.

She couldn't stop thinking, and at the same time she couldn't think. Her thoughts flited from Lucius, to her father, to Bellatrix, to Andy, to Lucius, to her home, to Lucius, to the knowledge that she was about to leave with Lucius, to Walburga as her aunt pulled her aside for more last-minute advice, to Lucius, to the evening ahead, to – oh, Merlin, they were going to be _alone_ in that manor in twenty-four hours. She couldn't tell if she liked the idea or not; everything was tightening nerves that made her stomach ache. Lucius's occasional touch on her elbow, or her side, or her shoulder, would help the anxiety until she thought more about _touching_ and then the anxiety got worse.

She always focused on external events: on politics, on other peoples' relationships. She didn't know how to think about her own turmoil.

Then the ceremony itself was over and then came photographers for _Witch Weekly_ and the _Daily Prophet_ and other, lesser-known media outlets. _What are we doing?_ Narcissa thought suddenly, as the two of them were gently prodded into the correct, cold, and distant poses; they held each other's hands and stood only half facing each other, looking towards the cameras. _This is ridiculous._ The gap between them was socially mandated. And it didn't end. The celebration began and people were drinking, and laughing, and dancing, and – oh, she was dancing also.

_This is ridiculous. It's my wedding._

She was dancing with her (very, very) new husband, but if Narcissa hadn't been wearing a wedding dress, they may as well have been mere acquaintances.

_It's my wedding and we can't even look at each other for too long without being judged._

For once in her life, Narcissa felt an intense hatred for politics. Marriages were political unions; in rare instances, they were even active partnerships. Love was for the stories of Beedle the Bard; passion was reserved for adultery that the gossip rags wrote on.

 _Why is that? What is Lucius thinking?_ She couldn't look at him or speak to him long enough to find out. But he seemed to be emanating patience. The only kiss that had been allowed to the two of them was the one that sealed the union; anything beyond that was considered indecent.

_This is ridiculous._

Narcissa lost track of time in her own fuming. She ended up in a shadowed corner, holding a glass of champagne that slowly warmed as she stared coldly and without pretense of happiness at the guests and relatives. Lucius had gone somewhere; she didn't remember where. She counted the seconds until she could escape. Tonight, they both remained at the Black residence in their separate rooms. The celebration wasn't considered over until the sun rose the following day; only then would the two of them be allowed to leave.

"NARCISSA, DEAR!" Walburga somehow appeared at her side and shouted in her ear above the music and people. "YOU'RE DOING WONDERFULLY, I MUST SAY, BEHAVING JUST AS A WOMAN SHOULD." Narcissa said nothing. She continued to stare straight into the crowd as Walburga babbled on. "I WOULD EVEN SUGGEST STAYING HOME AS LONG AS YOU CAN TOMORROW – OF COURSE, YOU WILL HAVE TO LEAVE EVENTUALLY, TOMORROW NIGHT IS TRADITIONAL OF COURSE, MUST SYMBOLIZE YOUR DEDICATION TO CONTINUING PUREBLOOD LINES –"

Lucius emerged from the crowd. He nodded at Walburga, plucked the warm champagne from Narcissa's hand, tossed the glass aside, and gave in its stead a glass of dark red wine.

Walburga frowned. "Is that really an appropriate—"

Lucius either didn't hear Walburga speaking, or he pretended not to, as he leaned close to Narcissa and commented, "You know, you look quite stunning in white. Have you considered wearing lighter colors?"

And Narcissa answered, "I will gladly don pink the day that you do." They looked at each other for a moment, and then both of them smirked.

"DEAR," bawled Walburga. "Really, it's indecent for a bride to drink anything other than champagne or punch on her own wedding – "

Something inside of Narcissa snapped. She turned. "Aunt, have you tried this wine?" she asked innocently, feigning deafness. "It's infused with dragon tears. You really must have a glass. Lucius knows it's my favorite." And then she put her head back and drank the entire glass.

As if watching herself from the outside, Narcissa felt both amused and alarmed by her state of mind. And she watched herself put her hand on the neck of a very surprised Lucius, stand on her toes, and kiss him. It was too noisy in the room for her to hear his reaction, but her fingers felt the vibration in his throat from the startled sound he made. Narcissa pulled away. Lucius stared at her. Narcissa put her arm through his. "Excuse us, Aunt." She pulled him away from her spluttering, dumbstruck relative. They crossed to the other side of the room. They stepped through the doors into the hall, only to be accosted by photographers again. Narcissa smiled at them, but continued to pull Lucius through the house until they escaped to the lamp-lit yard. She paused to take a chocolate candy from one of the tables.

"Narcissa," said Lucius. She glanced at him, and was alarmed to see him looking very serious. Had she made him angry? "Are you all right?"

"I'm fed up," Narcissa answered, popping the chocolate into her mouth. "I want to go."

"All right," Lucius patted the hand that rested on his arm. "I'll come for you in the morning, then?"

"No," said Narcissa, lowering her voice only slightly as a laughing Regulus Black and a young witch ran by them. (Regulus paused briefly to say "Congrats, Cuz – wish me luck!" before continuing to chase the witch). "I want you to take me now."

"What…back to the manor?" Lucius looked positively alarmed. "But you know they aren't expecting me to until tomorrow."

Fate had a sense of humor. The clock struck midnight.

"It is tomorrow," said Narcissa, gesturing vaguely towards the house.

"Well, _technically,_ yes, but—people will talk."

"I don't care."

Lucius was silent for a moment. "Have you been drinking?"

"Other than the wine you gave me, no."

"…you don't care about the gossip, then?"

Narcissa hesitated. She knew that she _should_ care, and that she might care later. She didn't care now, but – _oh._ She was being selfish. She'd forgotten it would affect Lucius as well. "Well, it's not that – you think we ought not to, then?" Narcissa, for a moment, feeling the excitement of freedom, prepared herself to step back into a cage for one more night. She felt Lucius looking at her. She looked at the house, the silhouettes of people inside. Some distant cousins passed, congratulating them.

After they'd gone, Lucius said, "I'll do whatever you want to, Narcissa. I just don't want you to regret it later."

Narcissa glanced at him. "Perhaps I will. But I shouldn't have to. What are they going to gossip about? Two married people appear to love each other? What's so salacious about that?"

Lucius's eyes widened for a brief moment, then he smiled slightly. "You have a point, I suppose. What about your father? I don't want to offend him."

Narcissa smiled. But it wasn't a smile Lucius had seen before – it was a sly, knowing smile. It was a smile sparkling with mischief: one that invited you in to share her deepest secrets. "He is my father," she mused. "But I'm married to you now. I'll be back in a moment." She left him there and slipped back inside. It was just as well she didn't expect a reply – Lucius couldn't have given one just then.

Narcissa hurried through the rooms, searching the patrons. She spotted a wild-haired figure out the wine table (unsurprisingly). She raised her left hand, on which glinted an ornate wedding ring, and caught Bellatrix’s eyes.

“Don’t worry,” Bellatrix said, immediately at her side, with a knowing grin. “I’ll distract him. He won’t even know you’ve gone.”

Next, Narcissa flagged down the pixie-like house-elf that was refilling sandwich platters. “Bring our things to Mr. Malfoy’s manor eleven o’clock tomorrow morning, not a moment before.”

“Yes, Mistress Malfoy,” squeaked the pixie.

The new name did not sink in until she went back to where she had left Lucius. He hadn't moved. They waited until the yard was mostly empty, and then they disappeared into the night.

*

“My dear,” Lucius stood back and revealed a long path bordered by tall hedges. Narcissa took a deep breath of cool nighttime air, her spirits soaring. They had appeared just outside a large iron-wrought gate. He held out a hand and the heavy gate swung open as easily as if it were made of flimsy foil. “Welcome to Malfoy Manor.” He led her through the gate and Narcissa let out an appreciative sigh that was nearly a gasp. Lucius visibly swelled with pride. The dewy night left droplets of water across the path and on the leaves of the hedges as they passed, but Narcissa had her eyes fixed on the house itself. It rose before her, a watchful manor with large windows that would face the sun in the morning, many spires that pointed to the sky, and outstretched wings that contained rooms doubtless full of ancient and powerful artifacts. They passed beyond the hedges and the path widened, forming a courtyard that gleamed in the moonlight and spread beyond the borders of the house.

“Is that running water?”

“Fountains.” Lucius put an arm around her and turned her around. Facing the long pathway, Narcissa could see the gardens that stretched out on either side, before the wings of the house. There were more hedges—shorter ones—cut in ornate shapes she could not see by moonlight, and there were indeed large marble, happy, chattering fountains, but her attention was quickly captured by a swift movement in the shadows. She stepped forward out of Lucius’s embrace, curious. The shape walked out onto the courtyard brick.

“Peafowl. You have _peafowl._ ”

“Yes indeed. I hope to find some albinos someday.”

Narcissa turned around, incredulous. Lucius had not moved. He stood with his hands in his pockets, blonde hair shining brightly in the moonlight. The breeze had slightly tousled it, but most was still bound back behind his head with the ribbon. Below his chin the white lace gleamed as well, and Narcissa thought how uncomfortable it must be to have it snug around your neck. She imagined loosening it.

“Albino peafowl,” she said, looking at Lucius’s hair, and it suddenly seemed very funny to her. She began to laugh.

Lucius looked astonished. “What?”

She just shook her head, hand at her mouth. “Albino peafowl.”

“Yes.”

“Albino _peafowl_. You great _peacock._ ”

Lucius smiled slightly. He seemed uncharacteristically uncertain, whereas she felt free to do anything. Narcissa swept up her skirts and started across the grass. "Are…you coming inside?" Lucius called after her.

"Come and get me." She flung the words over her shoulder.

"What?"

"You heard me." She quickened her pace, glancing back as Lucius started to follow, still looking lost. Narcissa breathed in the cool air and felt the dew dampening her ankles. _Come on now, Lucius Malfoy,_ she thought. _Chase me._ And with that, she broke into a run, water flinging up at her heels. She turned; Lucius was running now. She raced around the fountain. Lucius suddenly appeared on the other side; he splashed the fountain at her face. Narcissa let out a gasping laugh and spun about again.

Lucius – poor, confused Lucius – called out with a small laugh of his own, "Where are you _going_?"

Her shoes were not conducive for running; Lucius was having far too easy of a time catching up. Narcissa swept out her wand from where she’d hidden it in her waistband. She turned to face him. Lucius slowed to a walk as he got nearer. So, naturally, Narcissa said thoughtfully, "Tarantallegra."

Lucius yelped and collapsed. "What was that for?"

Narcissa put one hand on her hip and touched her wand tip to her shoulder. "You'll never catch me with that attitude, Malfoy," she said coolly. Then she strolled back towards the manor. She looked up at the tall doors, reached her hand out—

Lucius seized her around the waist from behind and pulled her against him. Narcissa gasped. And Lucius's voice whispered in her ear.

"Caught you."

Narcissa's heart throbbed; she said nothing, and Lucius let go. He pushed open the manor doors and stepped back with a bow, his arm outstretched. "Welcome home, Mrs. Malfoy."

She stepped over the threshold into a hall of beautifully dark polished wood and marble floors. Paintings adorned the walls. She inhaled the scent of old, majestic wood. Lucius's hand touched the small of her back. "Would you like the grand tour?"

"Of course."

"I'll be right back. I need to inform the house-elves about the change of plans. We weren't expecting—well, obviously. One moment." Lucius disappeared through one room and returned a minute later.

So Lucius led her through the rooms, speaking about the objects in the rooms, or sometimes the room itself – a certain sitting room had been the location of a major decision regarding the Wizard-Goblin agreement back when Lucius's Great-Grandfather was lord of the manor. It was fascinating, and Lucius was clearly proud of it, and Narcissa genuinely savored every moment of her tour—but she couldn't tell how much of that was because of the house itself, and how much of it was Lucius speaking and holding her to him, occasionally drawing her hair to one side and exposing her neck, or taking her elbow, or encircling her waist from behind.

She didn't know how much time passed, but she still felt entirely awake when, in an upstairs hall, Lucius suddenly stopped and stepped away, hands in his pockets.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing," said Lucius. "You've seen most of it now. There's not much else."

"What else is there?" Narcissa knew the answer, but she asked anyway.

"Well," Lucius looked at the ground, and then at the wall, and then to his left. "There's a guest bedroom down that way, which you are more than welcome to use."

Narcissa blinked. "I see."

"But," Lucius continued. "There is, of course, always—that is, it's earlier than expected, but I presume because you wanted to—well, I suppose I shouldn't presume. That is to say, you may also, if you so choose…" he gestured, and ended with a weak-sounding question. "Our room is to the right?"

_"I've never seen you embarrassed before, Black."_

"I've never seen you flustered before, Lucius," said Narcissa quietly. Lucius smiled weakly. There's was no-one watching them this time; there was no possibility that anyone would walk in unannounced. Narcissa put her arms around his neck and kissed him. They were both hesitant at first, especially Narcissa—she had no experience. Then Lucius pulled her close to him, and his hands were in her hair and running down her back, and she gasped in startled pleasure when the tip of his tongue slipped in between her lips. Lucius tasted like whiskey and smelled like mahogany, golden ink, and imperial orchids.

They were in the room. Narcissa opened her eyes just long enough to see the darkened shapes of furniture. Moonlight streamed in through sheer curtains. She still held onto his neck and Lucius pushed her backwards until she felt the bed gently hit her legs. She sat down. His hand was on her shoulder—her real shoulder, beneath the fabric of her dress. And then suddenly she was terrified and she pulled back. Lucius was still leaning down, standing before her, but he stopped.

"Are you all right?"

She looked into his eyes and was barely able to speak around the knots in her throat. Whatever brief freedom she had found when breaking the rules and fleeing the wedding began to become tangled in the walls around her soul. Lucius had weakened it—but out of long practice, it was panicking, struggling to build itself up again, block him out.

"No," she whispered, truthfully.

Lucius straightened up then and turned away. "I can show you to the other room." His voice was kind, but his body language was frustrated.

"No," she said, angry with herself. "I'm sorry. I want to be—but I—I don't know." She hung her head and looked at her feet. One of her shoes had come off and it sat toppled over to one side. The white of her dress clashed with the darkness of the room.

Lucius turned back and studied her. His face was shadowed, but she could still make out the same, searching look he'd given her that night before the wedding when they had argued and nearly called off their engagement. She looked back at him, almost pleadingly.

(She didn't know what she was pleading for. Mercy, maybe.)

Lucius then spoke in the gentlest voice she'd ever heard in her life. "I'm not going to hurt you, Love."

Somehow, for some reason, it struck at her heart, and it was a barbed arrow that crashed against her soul's walls. Tears swam up.

_How did he understand her better than she understood herself?_

After a moment, Lucius spoke again.

"Who was it who hurt you? Travers?"

This was so far from the mark that Narcissa smiled. Then the answer came to her—the answer to a question she hadn't even known was relevant. She gripped the bed, bowing her head from the shock of it as she spoke the thought aloud, her voice heavy and resigned and astonished. "I think it was Andromeda."

"I see." Lucius was quiet a moment, and then he sat down on the bed next to her. "I have something to show you." She watched as Lucius's fingers undid his collar (a prick of guilt—she should be the one doing that), then unbuttoned his cuffs, and very quickly and efficiently shed the layers covering his torso—the dress robes, the coat, the vest, the white button-up shirt. It took Narcissa a moment to realize what it was he was trying to show her, and she didn't notice until it was almost lying in her lap. Lucius was extending his left arm. On the skin of his inner forearm, in stark contrast to the milky whiteness of his skin—Narcissa blinked away the distraction again—was the deepest black one could imagine, deeper than the blackest ink. Narcissa held out a hand and took his arm. Despite the darkness, she could make out the design of a skull and a writhing snake. It was the epitome of the nervous rumors, the physical manifestation of the world at war, the secret whispered in the night.

“This is it,” she said. “This is the mark.”

Lucius seemed surprised at her wonder. “Bellatrix has one as well.”

“I know,” said Narcissa. “But she’s never shown me.” She traced it lightly with her fingers, contemplating. "When did you get it?"

"A few months ago. Right before I asked your father if I could marry you….what does that smile mean?”

“It means approval,” said Narcissa, and she bent over and kissed his arm. Then she reached up and kissed him across the mouth, and relaxed against his body as his arms went around her again, more hesitatingly than before, and it was with her own willpower that she cracked open her own soul's casing.

 _You're staying there,_ she told it. _I can't get rid of you and I don't know if I should. But I'm going to be damned if I don't let him in._


	5. Chapter 5

**PART 2 (continued)**

Narcissa woke in the unfamiliar room with bright sunlight streaming in through the curtains. She stared at the ceiling very confused. Then she turned her head and saw Lucius slumbering next to her, on the other side of the simply enormous bed. Memories came flooding back and Narcissa sat bolt upright, and then realized with a startled lurch in her stomach that she was naked.

"Merlin," she whispered, gathering the sheets up around her. _Where are my clothes?_

Lucius stirred next to her. She shrank back down in the bed, as doing so offered her more covering. She watched his face, then looked away quickly as he opened his eyes.

"Morning," he mumbled sleepily. There was a smile in his voice.

"Good morning," said Narcissa as primly as she could manage. He moved in the bed, but Narcissa refused to look at him so she didn't realize what he was doing until his hand touched her stomach under the sheets. Narcissa let out a startled shriek and jerked away, curling up in a protective way. "Don't!"

"Why not?"

Narcissa looked at him defiantly. "Because—I haven't got any clothes on!"

Lucius raised his eyebrows. "Well, no," he agreed.

"Where are they?"

Lucius sat up (shirtless, Narcissa noticed) and pointed. Somehow (Narcissa couldn't remember how) they had been piled against the wall on the other side of the room. And her wand was nowhere to be seen. Lucius looked at her. "What's the matter?"

"I can't reach them, obviously," Narcissa snapped, holding the sheets around herself more tightly.

"So?" Lucius laughed. "I thought we would be past this, considering last night." Narcissa scowled at the ceiling, and Lucius said with another laugh. "All right, I'll get them for you." He scooted to the other side of the bed and stood up. With a jolt of horror, Narcissa saw that he was naked too. She dove under the sheets and pulled them tight around her head. After a moment, Lucius was laughing again. "Do you want your clothes or not?"

"Put some trousers on!" Narcissa ordered from underneath the sheets.

"You didn't mind last night."

"That's completely different!" Narcissa shrieked.

"Oh, don't be such a child," said Lucius good-naturedly. She felt the weight of her clothes being placed on the bed over her curled legs. "The house-elves should be bringing your other things any moment now anyway. I'll go see to breakfast and you can get dressed."

*

Narcissa hated it, but she couldn't make herself stop blushing over the breakfast table. Lucius, annoyingly, didn't see the least bit put-out—he seemed quite amused. Perhaps that was why she asked coolly—by way of revenge— "So, whatever happened with Ms. Greengrass?"

Lucius grimaced. "Really? You're going to ask that now?"

"I was always going to ask it eventually," said Narcissa, pouring herself a fresh cup of tea. "May as well be now. Everyone thought you two were going to be married."

"Define everyone."

"All of the old gossips I was forced to spend time with—and all of the young ones—and all of the gossip tabloids—"

Lucius raised his eyebrows. "You were reading gossip tabloids?"

"I told you I have been in love with you since I was eleven, remember? Of course I read them. You were in them."

Lucius looked down at his place with a pleased smile.

"So what happened?" Narcissa prodded.

"If you want the full story…" Narcissa nodded, and Lucius gave in. "Very well. The Greengrasses were the family that my parents tried for years to set me up with. I didn't mind so much at first, but it got harder as the years went on."

"Why?"

"You said you fell in love with me on Halloween night when you were eleven. I fell in love with you when you were fourteen and I was fifteen and you declared that the Dark Lord was about to start a war with the Ministry."

"Oh." Narcissa felt herself blushing again. Fourteen was before she had turned beautiful, she couldn't help but notice.

"Anyway. I dated Parkinson as a form of rebellion, I guess, though I did like her all right, and even though we both knew it couldn't go anywhere. But after I graduated, and you were—well, I got the sense that you didn't care. So I left and I was determined to become as powerful as I could so as to impress you. Unfortunately, I couldn't easily escape the Greengrasses, and I didn't feel very hopeful about the prospects with you, so I tried to make Greengrass agreeable to me. She is pleasant, but—I finally realized that I did not want to marry her. We made a terrible couple. Had I married her we would have dominated the gossip columns but nothing else. And I was still in love with you. I thought the time was approaching when I would receive the Dark Lord's mark, and so I went to her and told her I didn't want to marry her. She studied me for a long time and said that she agreed. I was surprised. She explained that I seemed the type to be genuinely furious if she began seeing other men after the marriage, rather than jealous and hurt as well as angry. I said of course I would be, and returned—a little harshly, I suppose—that she was the type of woman that wouldn't not help in the kind of work I wanted to get done, and she agreed. The problem then became, of course, how do we break the news to the press without disrupting either of our reputations? We didn't hold any animosity towards one another. So we decided that she would spin a story to the gossip columns, which of course you know all about."

"No, I don't," said Narcissa.

"You don't?"

"I stopped reading the gossip columns eventually."

"Oh. Well, she told them that while we were very good friends, her heart lay with someone else's, as did mine. She didn't mention names, so it was very beneficial for her because new suitors dive-bombed her, and I was able to slip away and ask your father, and then break the news to my own."

Narcissa played with the napkin. She realized she hadn't seen Lucius's father since their summer in France. "How is he?"

"Failing," said Lucius bluntly. "It's actually quite miraculous he's held out for this long. Dragon pox can kill you in a matter of weeks."

"I'm so sorry."

"I've had time to prepare for it. I am officially the lord of the manor now, actually, though we're keeping it quiet until after he passes. And he was very gracious about what I had done – dying gives you a new perspective on life, I suppose."

"Gracious, how?" Narcissa felt nervous; she did not want Lucius's father to disapprove of her, even if he was close to death.

"He was a little disappointed, but after I described you to him, he agreed that you would make a superb Malfoy – especially if you were the one to make me happy."

Narcissa smiled weakly. "I'll do my best."

Lucius leaned over and took her hand. "You already have."

*

It became easier for Narcissa to ease open her casing and let Lucius in. They remained alone in his manor ("their manor," Narcissa corrected herself) for the better part of a week, and while the explosion in the gossip tabloids made Narcissa a little uneasy, she also slightly relished them. The house was great fun to explore, and she enjoyed herself perhaps a bit too much as she dug out old artifacts and explored the library and discovered rare, old paintings and portraits of distant ancestors in corners. But her favorite pastime quickly became discovering how easily she could titillate Lucius – made even more fun by the fact that he never seemed to be expecting it.

Lucius, of course, didn't seem to mind at all.

*

“Do you know the real reason I never played Quidditch, Narcissa?”

“You said it was because you had higher interests.”

“Well, yes. But I am horrifically clumsy on a broom. If I embarrassed myself in a tryout it would have spoiled my image.”

*

“Darling, did you know that that my parents were going to proposition you with Bellatrix?”

“Were they really, my dear?”

“Yes. She put them off.”

“Thank goodness for that. I would have been most upset. So close, and yet so far.”

*

Their first public appearance came a week and a half after their marriage, and it was for a sad occasion – Abraxas Malfoy had died. The camera flashes in their direction were perhaps too numerous than was appropriate for a funeral. Lucius kept his arm around Narcissa's waist and she unashamedly rested her hand lightly against the front of his jacket. As they were leaving, she kissed him on the cheek—many more cameras flashed.

Even this mild level of public displays of affection were not the normal protocol for couples of their status.

Neither of them cared.

*

A month after their marriage, anyone would have guessed that Narcissa and Lucius had been married all their lives.

“Are you ready?”

Narcissa turned in a circle before she answered, looking at herself from every angle in the wall-length golden-gilded mirror. Lucius stepped up behind her, stilling her turns with a hand at her waist. He pulled back her hair and placed a kiss on her shoulder. Narcissa smiled. She reached up and twisted her fingers in his hair. “Dear Harold won’t know what hit him," she purred.

“Look what came by owl today.” Lucius snaked his other arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him. In his hand was a long cane. Narcissa ran her fingers over the ornate fanged serpent’s head, touching its emerald eyes.

“Is this…?”

“The heirloom of my namesake,” said Lucius, resting his chin against her shoulder. He was taller, so by necessity he stooped a bit. “I was having it refurbished. And look,” He pulled the head and removed a long, beautiful wand of dark, polished wood.

Narcissa took the wand from Lucius and ran her fingers over it. “The cane and wand of Lucius Malfoy's 1000-year-old ancestor."

Lucius frowned. “It’s a walking stick, not a cane,” he said, sounding offended.

Narcissa giggled.

“What?” He still sounded offended.

“What is the wood and core?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Elm and dragon heartstring.” The pride leaked back into his voice.

“Elm and dragon heartstring,” she murmured. “That’s very powerful, and elegant.” She turned her head and used her hand to lift Lucius’s chin from her shoulder so she could kiss him. She felt him smile against her mouth and she deepened the kiss, running the wand’s serpent head and her own hands down the front of his jacket.

“Stop,” said Lucius stepping back and wiping his mouth. Narcissa held the wand and ran its tip across her lips. “Stop,” Lucius pleaded, even as he smirked. “The Minister is waiting for us.”

“Let him wait,” said Narcissa.

“It isn’t him I’m worried about,” said Lucius. “I have another meeting afterwards, remember? And _He_ can’t wait.”

"Oh, very well then." She took his arm, and they left for the Minister for Magic’s office.

*

This sort of scene was repeated multiple times in the years to come.

“Lucius, Mrs. Malfoy, so good to see you again, so good of you to come—” Minister Harold Minchum gestured for them to sit, in separate chairs unfortunately.

“What’s the matter, Minister?” Lucius leaned forward, looking concerned. Narcissa folded her hands and looked likewise.

“We have a problem, Lucius, we have a problem.”

“What is it, Minister?”

The Minister rubbed his hands together and looked awkward, glancing at Narcissa. Lucius cleared his throat. “Whatever you can say in front of me, you can say in front of Narcissa.”

“Oh, yes, of course. It’s just—it’s a rather nasty business, I would hate to burden her with this sort of matter of state.”

“You need not worry about me, Minister,” said Narcissa in a kind voice. "What can we do to help you?"

“My wife is made of hardier stuff than you give her credit for,” said Lucius.

The Minister cleared his throat. “Well, she’ll find out in the newspapers anyway—it’s Marigold Lipwig, Lucius. She’s been murdered.”

“By whom, Minister?”

“We don’t know. But she was about to do—you-know-what—ready to upset—You-Know-Who—and she was found dead in her home. But the only people who knew…” the Minister shook his head. He leaned forward. “We are afraid—they are saying—” he leaned forward and whispered. “ _Augustus Rookwood._ ”

“Augustus Rookwood,” Lucius repeated. His tone and face neither confirmed nor denied. “The Unspeakable? Minister, do you think him capable?”

“He has the means,” said the Minister. “And if he is found to be a part of You-Know-Who’s inner circle—”

“That would be most unfortunate,” agreed Lucius. When they left his office, Lucius and Narcissa looked at each other.

“What are you going to do?” asked Narcissa. "The loss of Rookwood could be devastating."

Lucius tapped his fingers on his walking stick. “Don’t worry, my dear.”

“Be careful,” said Narcissa.

“When am I not?”

A few days later, a maintenance man was found with incriminating evidence and a verbal confession recorded in a room he thought was private.

Lucius came home the day of the man’s conviction, spun Narcissa around and kissed her deeply.

“How did you do it, Lucius?” she inquired.

Lucius spun his walking stick. “Let’s just say if they were to find the spell recorded in this wand, they would be unable to forgive me."

Narcissa rolled her eyes at the, quite frankly, pathetic attempt at wit. “What happened to him? That maintenance man?”

“He has no hope of escape, so he confessed in front of the Wizengamot in order to receive a slightly lessened sentence—though,” Lucius chuckled. “It is subject up for debate if a life in Azkaban is better or worse without a Dementor’s kiss.”

The pit of Narcissa’s stomach dropped. “Wasn’t that harsh on him? He was innocent.”

Lucius dropped his boasting for a moment to peer into his wife’s face. “Yes, he was,” he admitted. “But he was on the wrong side. Casualties of war. And now,” he ran a finger along her soft jawline. “I saved the skin of one of the Dark Lord’s most valuable informant. He was very pleased with me, and Narcissa—he wants to meet you.”

Narcissa’s lips parted and she breathed, “What?”

“He wishes to meet you. He may even ask—” Lucius looked at her carefully. “Narcissa, how would you feel about becoming a Death Eater?”

Narcissa thought for several long seconds while he caressed her cheek. She had pondered this question before, and she knew the answer. But she did not want to make Lucius angry. She reached up and took his hand, clasping it and guiding it to her heart.

“Lucius.”

“Yes, my dear?”

She looked into his eyes. “Do you want a child someday?”

His eyebrows bunched together. “Yes, of course.” Then they got a bit wide. “You’re not—”

“No,” said Narcissa. “Not now. But eventually, I will be. I will never put myself in a position that may require me to put the needs of another above those of my husband and child.”

Lucius frowned and he looked at the ground.

Narcissa whispered, afraid. “Do you understand?”

Lucius looked up again and his smile was gentle. “Of course, I understand. Of course, you are right.” He kissed her, kissed her deeply, and then pulled her head to rest underneath his chin. She closed her eyes.

“What shall I say?” she asked. “What shall I say if he asks me?”

“He’s a Legilimens,” said Lucius. “The most powerful Legilimens in the world, I believe. If you are unable to put Him first, I believe He will not ask you.”

She was asking for a fight with her next words, but she asked them anyway because if she hadn’t they would have continued to claw at her insides until she turned bitter and raw. “Do you put Him first? Before me? Will you put Him before your child?”

Lucius was silent for a long moment. “He may make many demands of me,” he said slowly. “And I don’t know when I would tell him no. But—I was a Death Eater before I knew I would marry you.”

Narcissa was not satisfied with this answer. She felt it would come back and hurt them later, this answer. But it was all Lucius could give now, so she swallowed her uncertainty and traced her fingers up his back.

And later, when Narcissa gave a deep curtsy and bestowed many flattering compliments upon the Dark Lord, he smiled and answered back not quite as flatteringly, but by no means rudely, and He did not ask her.

*

Narcissa Malfoy’s conversation with Lucius the night she met the Dark Lord would not leave her. She kept thinking about it in the following months.

Primarily, the look in Lucius’s eyes when he’d mistakenly thought she was telling him she was pregnant haunted the back of her thoughts. He had been nervous and unsure, but also—delighted. The thought of being a mother had never really come to the forefront of her mind before then. Even though they had been married less than a year, she and Lucius…they were the ultimate Power Couple. Their combined wealth was astronomical; they had more than one vault in Gringotts. They were both stunningly beautiful. They were shrewd and politically astute—they were at the top of the food chain both in the Ministry and in the Dark Lord’s inner circle. They were in love and they never argued about anything important (so far)—they were one in mind, one in heart. The gossip columns ate them up eagerly, but so did the newspapers—the name of Malfoy was shooting skyward. It was becoming a common occurrence to see a picture of one or both of them on the front page, Lucius with his arm around her, Narcissa with her hand possessively resting on his chest, both of them smiling shrewdly at the camera.

They were learning more about each other as well. Narcissa was more cautious and reluctant to instigate violence than Lucius, but even that was good—Lucius prompted her to drive forward when inciting was necessary. She learned from him how useful private information could be in public policies. Now, the previously boring circles of gossiping women became goldmines of information that she passed onto her husband as he became increasingly more powerful. And as for her…well, she tempered Lucius's streak of violent passion when it became too much. No one could touch them.

And a child…Narcissa didn't know how a child would fit into that equation. But the thought wouldn't leave her alone, and so now she found herself taking Lucius’s streak of violent passion and turning it to her own devices in their bed, even when she did not feel particularly aroused herself. There was the particular concern with infertility that frequently plagued the pureblood families. It was an unfortunate side-effect of too much interbreeding. She thought that Black had been spared—Druella and Walburga didn’t seem to have had problems, after all—but perhaps Lucius…perhaps both of them together…

She would have visited a private healer at St. Mungo’s for advice if she could bribe the healer to keep quiet, but she was not stupid. Narcissa Malfoy was the subject of too many Witch Weekly articles and gossip circles to hope to keep any potentially world-rocking secrets that she shared with anybody other than Lucius. So she kept quiet and fretted by herself.

She enjoyed every excuse she had to accompany Lucius to the ministry—so much so, she played with the idea of attempting to get her own position. But then she considered how having an official position would require following a fixed schedule and reporting to someone else—not to mention that her regular appearance at the ministry even without a formal position would diminish her reputation as an aristocrat. Lucius Malfoy was the Lord and Master of the Ministry of Magic’s policies—Narcissa Malfoy was the Lady and Mistress of the Ministry of Magic’s employees’ private lives. So, instead, she enjoyed the bustle and importance of the Ministry in the infrequent visits she took at Lucius’s side, taking mental notes and putting faces to names.

*

 

One day, when they had been married a little over a year, they stood in the main hall waiting for a page to take them to visit the Head Auror. Narcissa recited a long list of names silently as she examined the faces in the crowd. One wizard with unkempt, fiery hair marched past, leaning slightly forward, eyes bright and excited and mouth set in a firm line. His new-looking robes swished and gleamed, but Narcissa noted the slightly dusty texture and slightly baggy folds on his sleeves; they were extremely low quality, and he hadn’t had them tailored.

She squeezed Lucius’s arm and he tilted his head towards her. “Arthur Weasley?” she inquired. ( _2 nd cousin, once removed.) _Lucius glanced after the wizard.

“Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee,” he said. “I remember him. Graduated in '68, four years above me. He actually took Muggle Studies seriously; he was one of the three students who took the N.E.W.T. in his year. Quiite a loudmouth about it. Most irritating.”

She watched him cross the room. “Excuse me,” she murmured to Lucius, then slipped out of his arm and walked after the harried wizard. He had stopped at the secretary’s desk for the Improper Use of Magic Office (the claims were so numerous that they all passed through this easily-accessible hub for screening), leaning over and waving what looked like a memo and protesting.

“He was _meant_ to receive this _yesterday_ —yes, of course the memory charms have been performed, but singing and dancing tea kettles—”

“Mr. Weasley,” snapped the grey-haired, gaudily-purple-and-pearl-clad secretary. “Mr. Greymonger is terribly busy, and I daresay he has more on his mind than tea kettles—”

“But they keep popping up this side of town,” said Weasley, looking exasperated. “And we don’t have the authority to investigate without his say-so—”

“Hello, Elaina,” Narcissa interrupted. Weasley straightened.

The receptionist’s face melted into a smile of delight. “Why, hello! I didn’t know you were coming in today!”

“I just stopped by to congratulate you on your excellent chocolate truffles,” said Narcissa pleasantly. “They were the talk of the party.”

Elaina went pink. “Thank you, thank you,” she gushed. “Well, you know, it’s an old family recipe – been perfecting it for decades – centuries –”

Weasley looked back and forth between the two of them. “Miss Elaina –”

“Leave it here, Weasley, and I’ll pass it on.” Elaina gave him a withering scowl.

“I’m sorry, did I interrupt something?” Narcissa put on her best expression of the utmost concern. “What is the problem?”

“No problem –” grumbled Elaina.

“Enchanted Muggle items,” said Weasley, holding out the memo in front of Elaina’s face until she took it. “They keep turning up in the same 2-block radius. They’re causing a horrible amount of trouble, but I can’t get anyone in the office to get to the root of the problem—someone’s got to be intentionally secreting them into the Muggle community. The office just keeps sending Obliviators, and that’s not helping the Muggles—”

“Let me see?” Narcissa plucked the memo from Elaina’s hand – noting her garishly painted green nails – and glanced over it. “Tea kettles?”

“That’s just the latest incident,” Weasley said gruffly, his hands in the pockets of his second-rate robes. “It’s been overwhelming. There should be an entire department for this sort of thing. There have been five others, much more dangerous – one Muggle lost a hand, another went blind for a whole week—nearly died—”

“Elaina,” Narcissa lowered the paper and frowned at the receptionist. “This looks extremely serious. Why hasn’t it been given top priority?” Elaina flushed. “It’s terribly important that our magical community is protected in utmost secrecy.”

“Er—” said Weasley.

“It’s absolutely disgraceful that ministry wizards specially trained in memory charms should be forced to waste their precious time continually modifying Muggle memories,” Narcissa continued.

“That’s not exactly what—” said Weasley.

“Yes, Elaina, this should go straight through. Top of the docket for this afternoon, I think. Do you have a quill I could borrow? Thank you.” She accepted the quill from a mollified Elaina and neatly wrote a personal note to Greymonger at the top of Weasley’s memo. “Straight through, Elaina,” she ordered. Elaina mumbled something, looking embarrassed, and stamped the memo with red ink. She turned away to reorganize the stack of papers to her right. The memo, with the red stamp and Narcissa’s signature clearly visible on its front, sat on its own.

“Er, thanks, I guess,” said Weasley, looking blind-sided. “Do you work with…?”

“Oh, no, I’m just visiting,” said Narcissa lightly. She held out her hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Narcissa Malfoy.”

“Er…Arthur Weasley.” He shook her hand, looking perplexed.

“Oh, really? Weasley?” she smiled. “There, I knew we must have something in common.”

“Come again?”

Narcissa laughed. “Oh, nothing. Only, we’re both Sacred Twenty-Eight, aren’t we? Though your family does have the unfortunate reputation of associating too freely with Muggles…”

Weasley’s countenance fell, adding to his disgruntled appearance. He put his hands back into his pockets and threw back his shoulders. “Well, Mrs. Malfoy that’s not really a point of – uh – no offense, but we are quite pr—”

“Narcissa,” Lucius’s hand fell on her shoulder. “Taggins is ready for us.”

“Taggins?” said Weasley.

“Oh yes, the Head of the Auror's office. He’s an old friend of ours.” Narcissa took Lucius’s arm. “This is my husband, Lucius Malfoy.”

The perplexed look in Weasley’s eyes lifted. “Ah, right, Malfoy…I recognize you.”

“I don’t recognize you,” Lucius lied coldly.

“Darling, this is Arthur,” said Narcissa. “He’s working to control the leakage of magical items into the muggle community.”

“I see,” said Lucius, and he steered Narcissa away without another word.

“Lovely to meet you, Arthur,” she called over her shoulder. “I hope you get your department.”

“Subtly insulting blood traitors again, are we, my dear?” Lucius murmured sideways out of his mouth as they got on the elevator behind Taggins’s assistant.

“Absolutely not,” said Narcissa. “If he’s humiliated about his tainted blood, ridiculous job, pointless life, or powerless position, that’s hardly my fault, is it?”

Lucius put a hand on her waist and pulled her against him. “I love you.”

“I know,” said Narcissa.

*

Narcissa combed through Lucius's hair with her fingers as he sat on his desk, writing a "request" to the Ministry (his requests were really becoming more like orders every day).

"You know," she commented as she tied back his hair. "You are the only man I know who can make a ribbon tied in a bow look so exquisite."

"Don't insult my ribbons," said Lucius with a chuckle. "I'm quite fond of them."

She leaned down and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I wasn't insulting them, you over-sensitive man. I was paying you a compliment." And she kissed him on the cheek.

*

In late August of 1976, Narcissa returned from having tea with one of her empty-headed acquaintances that were married to important Ministry men. One of the older house-elves (she and Lucius currently had three total) met her at the door and informed her that she had a visitor.

A dark-haired youth was in one of their many sitting rooms, currently devouring a plate of sandwiches and a rather large serving of custard. "Hiya, Cuz!"

"Regulus!" Narcissa was very surprised, but also pleased. "What are you doing here?"

"Well," Regulus took a large bite of a sandwich. "Haven't seen you since the wedding, but I just saw Lucius at the Ministry the other day, so I figured I'd drop by and see you too."

"What were you doing at the Ministry?"

"Delivering a letter. Owl's sick."

Narcissa sat down across from him, removing her gloves and sweater. "Well, I'm glad you decided to come by. How are things at Hogwarts? I haven't heard from anybody there in quite some time."

"Fine. It's starting to get crazy even there, though. What with all the rumors. Peoples' relatives disappearing and stuff. Club's still going strong. We have adversaries now—these idiot Gryffindors, people call them the Marauders. Sirius is with them, the prat. Then there's Potter—you remember Potter?"

"Mmm," said Narcissa affirmatively. "One of the most obnoxious first-years I've ever encountered."

"Well, he's more obnoxious now. The leader of their little gang. There's this sickly looking guy, Lupin—something wrong with him, I swear. Scars all over, like he lost a fight with a knife drawer. Then this chubby little guy named—I don't know, Paul or something. They're completely arrogant prats who bully anybody who's better than them—especially Snape. They set my teeth on edge. These are excellent, by the way. Must be nice to marry superrich."

Narcissa smiled. "Very nice indeed."

"Nice necklace." He meant her exquisite string of diamonds.

"Anniversary gift from Lucius. You say…Sirius is a member of their group?"

"I'd say he's more than a member. Didn't you hear? He ran away a month ago."

"He—what?"

"Lives with the Potters now. Idiot."

Narcissa's heart sank. She'd never particularly liked Sirius, but this was a blow to the Black family. "I'm so sorry. How's your mother dealing with it?"

"Oh, she's disowned him of course," said Regulus casually. He had ducked his head and was focusing very hard on his plate. "Guess we should have seen it coming, since he was sorted into Gryffindor. Got any more of these cakes?"

"Of course." Narcissa summoned a house-elf and pretended not to notice how Regulus was struggling to keep up the façade of not caring that his older brother had run away. After a moment, she said, "Should I be expecting a visit from Walburga—or, is she expecting a visit from me?"

Regulus seemed grateful for the change of topic. "Dunno. She doesn't approve of your behavior. With Lucius, you know. Says you're being embarrassing. Don't listen to her, though. Everybody except her is eating it up—even some of the kids at school are paying attention. Lucius is the guys' idol, and tons of the girls giggle over the Witch Weekly paparazzi photos of you two. Pretty annoying, actually." Regulus downed a strawberry tart. "I heard a girl whining to her boyfriend the other day, asking him why he could be as ambitious and dreamy as Lucius Malfoy, and he shot back it was because she wasn't as sharp and hot as Narcissa Malfoy. Anyway, I say, go you. It's stupid the way old stuffy geezers like my mum protest. I guess they don't want young people getting the idea that they should pursue love instead of the most politically beneficial marriage. You guys are lucky and got both. At this rate—and according to the gossip—you'll have an heir long before Bellatrix does. Multiple, probably, if you're shagging as much as the _Muckraker_ says you probably are."

"Regulus!" Narcissa flushed. "Mind your tongue!" But even as she felt uncomfortable about strangers speculating on the most private parts of her and Lucius's relationship, she also felt oddly pleased—though her lack of a pregnancy, despite their best efforts, was still disconcerting.     

Regulus smirked and got up to go. "By the way, I think I'm going to become a Death Eater. My goal is to do it by seventeen, youngest one ever. I want to go down in the history books."

*

In January of 1978, two and a half years after marrying Lucius Malfoy, and eight years after the beginning of the War, Narcissa Malfoy attended the most nightmarish social function of her life. It was a gathering of ministry workers, held in the Wide Hall of the ministry itself—a mix of those for and against the Dark Lord, a mix of those who knew that each other was on one side or the other. The air was fraught with tension, to the obliviousness of the Minister as he trusted them all. This in itself was not a bad thing—Narcissa Malfoy thrived in difficult political situations, and she always won.

The first bad thing was she had the bad luck to run into Molly Weasley. She had started out on the arm of Lucius, as always, but they had gone their separate ways a few minutes on, as was also their custom. Now Narcissa found herself alone, nursing a glass of dragon-tear infused red wine and the blood traitor stopped by the beverage table.

She felt her rancor rising, but she mistakenly attributed it to their obvious Muggle-loving obsessions. Molly Weasley must have seen the look on her face, because the fire of a tiger rose in her eyes.

“Narcissa Malfoy, is it?” she said in a polite tone.

“That’s right,” said Narcissa. “Excuse me, I don’t know who you are.”

“Molly Weasley,” said Weasley, extending her hand. Narcissa shook it, looking down at the woman who was already becoming squat and plump around the edges.

“The wife of Arthur Weasley, I presume. The notorious muggle-lover.”

“And you’re the wife of the man who manipulates the Minister,” said Molly Weasley calmly. “We must have been at Hogwarts together, though I was in Gryffindor and I presume you were Slytherin.”

“Perhaps,” said Narcissa. “You would have been several years above me, of course.”

Molly Weasley pursed her lips. “I graduated in ’67.”

“I was a very observant student,” said Narcissa with false thoughtfulness. “I watched and admired many older students, from all houses. I don’t remember you though.”

Molly Weasley frowned and then said sharply, “Charlie! Get away from that Dragon sculpture, it’s an antique.”

Narcissa glanced over her shoulder and saw a runny-nosed red-haired brat duck into the crowd again. She gave a rather pained smile. “One of your sons, I suppose?”

“My second,” said Weasley. “I have three.”

Narcissa’s nose wrinkled as she looked down. “And another on the way?” She paused. “It’s most unfortunate for them, really.”

“What? For who?”

“Your children, being raised in a family of stained blood. It’s a wonder you are so merciless as to breed them so quickly.”

Molly Weasley’s nostrils flared. She drew herself up. “Now you listen here, you—”

“Excuse me,” Narcissa put down her glass on the table. “The Minister is waving to me. We have a very friendly relationship.” And she glided away.

It was another faultless, perfect execution of insults and superiority. But she felt herself trembling and had a rush of adrenaline that did not belong. The thought of Molly Weasley and her three (four?) sons made her insensibly _angry._

 She hadn’t had time to recover when she heard a soft gasp and an eager, frightened, “Narcissa?”

She turned and was struck dumb. Her head spun, and her heart stopped. There, in soft robes of pink, stood an apparition not seen for eight years. Andromeda smiled, and her eyes sparkled with tears. She stepped forward, holding out a hand. “Narcissa.” Narcissa stepped back, feeling her heart pound against her ribs. “Narcissa,” she stopped and for the first time Narcissa noticed a child grasping her mother’s hand. The child had green-and-gold hair. “This is Nymphadora.” Her face shone with pride. “She’s a metamorphmagus. Nymphadora,” She tugged on the child’s hand, who hid her face in Andromeda’s skirt. “Nymphadora, look. It’s your aunt I’ve told you about. My little sister. It’s your Aunt Cissy.”

“Don’t,” Narcissa whispered, then her voice grew stronger. “ _Don_ _’t_. Don’t you dare talk to me. Don’t you dare call me that.”

“Narcissa—” Andromeda pleaded. “Please. Just talk to me.”

Narcissa snarled. “Stay away from me. Never speak to me again. You are not my sister. You are poison.” And she turned and walked away. Her voice was brave, but her legs shook and she gasped, feeling faint. She grasped the banister of the main staircase and tried to catch her breath. She looked for Lucius and did not see him.

“Narcissa Malfoy?”

She turned and blinked stupidly at a stranger. He smiled and twisted a purple hat in his hands, looking nervous.

“Look, I know you won’t want to listen to me, but for her sake—please just talk to her. It breaks her heart. She loves you, you see.”

Realization dawned. The ice in Narcissa broke and a rush of hot hatred flooded her. “You.”

He must have seen the murder in her eyes because he took one step back. “You don’t have to like me. The feeling is mutual. You can hate my guts for all I care. But she’s your sister.”

Narcissa did not know how her voice came out so cold and calm. “You, sir, are poison. You have poisoned my sister. You turned her into poison. If you knew what is good for you, you would be begging on your knees for my forgiveness, not standing there like an equal, like you have a right to stay _anything_ to my face. You do not even deserve to look me in the eye.”

Tonks took this without changing expression. He looked like he had been expecting this. “Speak to her,” he repeated. Narcissa felt her outward walls breaking. She struggled for control.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” she forced out, but her voice shook.

“Narcissa?” Relief and safety flooded over her. Lucius put her hand on his shoulder. “Is something the matter?”

Narcissa reached up and squeezed his fingers so he would know that she was in trouble, even as she said, “Not at all, darling. Just some…pest control.”

“Why don’t you let me take care of it?” Lucius said pleasantly. He squeezed her shoulder “Go rejoin the party.”

Narcissa stepped away, but she did not rejoin the party. She got more wine, and she watched as Lucius stepped close to Tonks, holding his walking stick and towering over the muggle-born.

She did not hear it, but Tonks said, “Now, Malfoy, there is no need for unpleasantness—”

Lucius spoke very quietly and very slowly and a hidden rage swelling through his voice and powering through his limbs. His eyes smoldered and there was no hint of false politeness in his face. He enunciated each word, leaning in closer and closer with each syllable and forcing Tonks to back away. “Listen to me, you repulsive, pathetic excuse for a mudblood. If you _ever_ bother my wife again—you or your blood traitor of a woman—if you lay a finger on her, if you speak to her, if you even come within a stone’s throw of her— _I will have your head on a pike_.” He stepped away and went to his wife. “Let’s go.”

“No,” said Narcissa. “No, that would be giving them victory.” And so they stayed until the late hour, but Narcissa kept her hand on his arm. She did not let go even when they were back in Malfoy Manor. She turned, buried her face in his chest, and began to sob.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so, so, sorry, I don’t know what’s the matter with me.”

Lucius held her head against him and swayed, rocking her on her feet. “There’s nothing the matter with you, love,” he said. “There’s nothing the matter with you.”


	6. Chapter 6

**PART 2 (continued)**

Narcissa regained her composure quickly. Several months later, curled in bed with Lucius curled around her, she commented, “Molly Weasley’s just had twins.”

“Mmm,” said Lucius, sounding half-asleep.

She traced his fingers where they locked his hands together across her chest. He was beginning to miss many nights at home, kept out late by the Dark Lord. He could become his right-hand man any day now. Narcissa was proud, but she had difficulty sleeping when he was absent. He tried to make it up to her, bringing her home presents and giving in every time she enticed him into love-making—which was a good majority of the nights (and sometimes days) that they were together.

“It’s been three years,” said Narcissa.

“Hmm?” said Lucius, not sounding any more awake. He had come home already tired and Narcissa had put his athleticism to the test.

“We’ve been married three years, and we don’t have a child.”

“Narcissa, you’re twenty-three. We have time.”

Narcissa sat up. “ _Time?_ ” she exclaimed. “Time? We’re in the middle of a war that’s getting more nasty by the day, you are playing on both sides, there are battles every day, every day you are in danger of exposure, you are in danger of discovery and capture and imprisonment or death every time you go into work, you are in danger of being killed every night you are out— _and you tell me we have time_?”

Lucius sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He pulled Narcissa into a one-armed hug, encouraging her to lay her head on his shoulder, but she didn’t. “My dear, I am not in any danger. I promise you.”

Narcissa pulled away and struck his bare chest in frustration. He winced. “You can’t promise me!” she snapped. “You aren’t in any danger? _You came home last week with an open wound in your back!_ ”

“Yes—”

“ _You murdered the Lycesters._ ”

“My dear!” Lucius protested. “They were Mudbloods, and talented ones at that. I was wearing a mask. No one at the Ministry knows it was me.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Narcissa nearly sobbed so her voice emerged as a snarl. “That doesn’t mean you won’t be killed, or imprisoned, our Obliviated.” She jerked away from Lucius’s touch, getting out of bed and standing with her back to him, the air hitting her bare skin and making her shiver. She balled her fists and put them in her eyes.

“Narcissa, Love,” said Lucius from the bed. “Do you want me to quit?”

Narcissa lowered her hands. “No,” she said heavily, turning back. “Just please—don't pretend that you are safe. I'm not some idiot to be coddled with lies.”

Lucius was quiet for a moment. “All right,” he said. Then, thoughtfully, “So you think we should have a child as soon as possible?”

“Yes,” said Narcissa.

Lucius reached across the bed and took her wrist. “Then come here.” He gently pulled her across the bed, lying down until she leaned across him. He gave her his quirk-mouthed smile. “Just be gentle with me, Love. I’m exhausted.”

*

October. Lucius had been gone on an assignment for two days. Narcissa tried to occupy herself in his absence, failed, and ended up gathering her things and strolling out to the front gate. But as she reached it, another figure Apparated just outside of it. Narcissa stopped, and then beamed.

"Regulus!"

"Hiya, Cuz. Can we come in?"

"Of course!" She shut down the spells guarding the gate and allowed Regulus through. Behind him was a sallow-faced, black-haired young man. "Wait a moment…Severus?"

"Hello, Narcissa," said Severus, without smiling.

She showed them both in. "So what are you doing here, Regulus? You haven't graduated yet."

"Weekend," said Regulus as they went into the drawing room. "Got a permission slip. Told them my mum was ailing and wanted me to come home while she has an emergency procedure done at St Mungo's. Not true, of course, but I had something else important to do. A meeting. Remember what I said about going down in the history books? Severus took me to a meeting. I did it. We're both Death Eaters now. And I'm seventeen. Ta-daa!"

"Hush!" Narcissa scolded, looking about as she let them inside. "Regulus, I appreciate your trust in me, but you shouldn't divulge such sensitive information so loudly and freely—especially when it includes information about someone else." She looked at Severus.

"I don't mind," said Severus quietly. "You were both kind to me at a time when few else were. I trust you with my life."

She ordered the house-elves to get tea ready. Regulus plopped down on a chair, and then hopped back up. "I'll just go use the loo. Try the strawberry tarts, Severus, they really are magnificent." He left the room.

Narcissa smiled at her former underclassman. "So how have you been, Severus?"

Severus was still unsmiling. "Well enough."

Narcissa wasn't sure what to say. "Well, just so you know, you are always welcome at this manor at any time—announced or unannounced."

It must have been the correct thing to say. Severus gave her a small, but genuine smile. He had always been an extremely solemn student.

Regulus entered the room, still talking as if he hadn't stopped. "Rosier and Wilkes and Avery and Mulciber are probably going to be joining too. Why don't you, Cuz? We need more females on the team. Bellatrix is great, but also kind of terrifying. Good terrifying, I guess, but, you know…scary." He threw himself down once more and piled tarts on his plate.

Narcissa shifted a little uncomfortably. Lucius knew her reasons, but Lucius understood her. And the Dark Lord…she didn't know exactly how Legilimency worked, she wasn't sure how much he knew. She didn't want to reveal her reluctance to take the final step. She didn't want Regulus or any of the others in the Dark Lord's circle to look down on her—and, by extension, on Lucius. Not when they were working so hard to get Lucius to become the Dark Lord's right-hand man. "Well…"

Severus's gaze was piercing, and he interrupted her, speaking a little harshly. "Only a fool would think Narcissa is not one of the Dark Lord's trusted, Regulus. It's obvious to everyone who pays attention just how much she assists Lucius from afar."

Regulus shrugged. "Well, she should just join officially then."

"Frankly, she provides so much information already joining would not change anything."

Narcissa sent Severus a grateful look and he gave her a slight nod in return.

Regulus switched topics. "Oh, speaking of information—Cuz, did you know that some sort of secret order has started up?"

Narcissa gave him her full attention. "I've heard rumors for a while now. Lucius said something about it a few nights ago. Has it become a matter of discussion for the Dark Lord?"

"More than a matter of discussion!" said Regulus, relishing being the bringer of such news. (Narcissa felt a little hurt that Lucius had not returned to tell her of the latest development.) "Earlier today, we got confirmation—it's called the Order of the Phoenix. Apparently Dumbledore started it and all his most favorite blood traitors are absolutely _clamoring_ to join. They're trying to become the anti-Death Eaters. Pathetic, if you ask me."

Narcissa and Severus exchanged looks.

*

Another year passed. It was 1979. Lucius came and left the mansion so often that Narcissa gave up trying to keep track of his schedule and simply saw him when she saw him. She herself went about to the Ministry, to other families, watching and reading and building one - sided friendships that were to her simply political connections, but were to others bonds of love and trust.

Every day where Lucius had time to simply stop and rest was a treasure. One particularly precious memory was him lying on his back one of their couches, head in Narcissa's lap, and his arm over his eyes. "I'm running himself ragged," he moaned as Narcissa combed her fingers through his hair.

"I know," she said sympathetically. "You're doing an incredible job, darling."

"I'm not doing enough. What more do I have to do? What more _can_ I do?"

"You are his most dedicated servant," Narcissa soothed. Lucius moved his arm and looked up at her. She smiled. "He'll see it soon. I know he will."

Bellatrix came through the study door just then; she had turned up unexpectedly and, like Lucius, had bloodshot eyes. But, unlike Lucius, she seemed perfectly thrilled about her life at the moment.

"Oh, excuse me," she said with a giggle. "Did I interrupt a Malfoy-spawning session?"

Lucius closed his eyes as Narcissa continue to stroke his head. She said, undisturbed, "Mind your tongue, Bellla." After a moment, "Where's Rodolphus? I haven't seen him in weeks."

"Months," Bellatrix corrected, examining her reflection in the glass front of a bookcase that held antique pocket watches. "He's in Romania. Or Albania. Or Bulgaria. I forget which."

"Are you ever going to make a LeStrange heir?" Narcissa asked, in a calm (but teasing) manner.

"I doubt it," said Bellatrix. "Not with Rod." And she smirked. "Anyway, I'll leave you to it." She left the room again.

After another moment of combing through Lucius's hair, she asked, "Do you want to?"

"Another night, perhaps," said Lucius. "I'm too tired now."

Lucius became more harried as the days went on, seeming to do nothing but eat, sleep, and run about. “It’ll happen,” he told her multiple times, seeming to forget that he mentioned it repeatedly. “Any day now.” His fingers shook as he struggled with the cufflinks, eyes bloodshot. Outside the sky had only just begun to turn gray.

“Sit down,” said Narcissa, pushing him into an armchair. She handed him a cup of coffee spiked with firewhiskey and then got on her knees on the floor and buttoned his cuff for him. “What’s your assignment today?”

Lucius drank and sat up a little straighter. “Someone’s bringing a package to the Minister from Gringotts. Need to find out who it is so Rosier can intercept him.” Narcissa moved to the other side of his chair and tapped his hand. Lucius transferred the cup to his other hand. She turned his palm upright and buttoned the other cuff as he continued, “I’ll be talking to Marigold Vestra. She’s close to the Treasurer, she’ll know.”

“Oh, no,” said Narcissa. “She’s very careful, and worse, she’s in love with him. She’ll never tell you anything.”

Lucius harrumphed and rose, looking at his reflection in the mirror. “I’ll have to try, there’s no one else.”

Narcissa stood and brushed imaginary lint from his shoulder. “Try Elaina Brown, the receptionist for the Improper Use of Magic office. She’s close friends with Marigold and an insufferable gossip. If Marigold has told anyone anything, it’ll be to Elaina. Just be prepared for her claiming you are flirting with her.”

“What?” Lucius stood and fumbled with his collar. “I can’t associate with someone who will spread rumors like that.”

“Elaina claims a new man is flirting with her every week,” Narcissa smoothed his hair and then hooked her hands over his shoulder. “Nobody pays her any mind.” She planted a kiss on his cheek. “Good luck.”

He came home ten hours later, gave her a kiss and said, “It worked” and then left again. Narcissa stood where he’d left her for several minutes, worry gnawing in her throat. She read about the ambush in the papers afterwards. It had been quick, clean, and the intermediary had no idea who had robbed him.

And another time, Lucius muttered in a half-daze, “I need to know when Bringnant is leaving for Switzerland—”

“Saturday,” said Narcissa immediately. “I had tea with his wife last week.”

It was a few days after this incident before she saw Lucius again. His eyes were bloodshot and he had a wild grin on his face. “It’s happening now,” he said. “And look, I’ve a gift for you. The Dark Lord ordered him to be given to me.” Lucius stepped aside and cowering behind him was a new house-elf. He kissed her and he smelled like firewhiskey, and then he was gone again.

Narcissa looked at the house-elf as he fidgeted, shifting his weight back and forth, cowering and tugging on his ears like a child might on locks of hair. “What’s your name?” she asked sharply.

“Dobby, Mistress,” said the house-elf.

Narcissa looked in the direction her husband had gone. He’d left the front door open. “I have a job for you, Dobby.”

Narcissa left the new house-elf the task of ensuring that coffee, whiskey, hot meals, and freshly pressed clothing be ready at all times of the day and night especially for Lucius. Then she patiently waited for the right moment, when Lucius was home and ready to go to a Death Eater meeting. Her chance came a week later.

“I’m coming with you,” Narcissa said firmly.

“But—He hasn’t invited you—”

Narcissa pinned her hair into place and pulled her robes on over her dress. “If He wants me to leave, He may kick me out.” She turned and folded her arms. Lucius stared at her. He had been out all day, keeping the minister calm, and had only come home to change his mussed robes for freshly pressed ones. His forehead wrinkled, and there were shadows under his eyes. “I’ll not be in the way,” she said. “Don’t stand there and act like you’ve done this all on your own.”

Lucius shook his head slowly as he rubbed his arm. “No, I know I haven’t, I just…”

Narcissa slipped her arm through his. “Are we going or aren’t we?”

Lucius sighed, but didn’t argue any more. Her heart pounded as Lucius Apparated them both to the center of a Muggle neighborhood. He glanced at her once and she raised her chin, resolute. They entered into a narrow hall with multiple open doors on either side.

“Why, Narcissa!” a delighted, freckly Evan Rosier pumped her free hand. “So good to see you again!”

“Hello, Rosier,” said Narcissa.

Lucius’s mouth twitched and Narcissa placed her hand on his arm. “Is the Dark Lord here?”

“He’s—”

“Lucius,” called a voice from behind one of the open doors. Lucius glanced at Narcissa before they entered the room. Once over the doorstep, Lucius bowed and Narcissa bent into a deep curtsy, and from the corner of her eye she saw Bellatrix jump up with a happy gasp. Narcissa smiled at her sister from underneath her lashes.

“My Lord,” said Lucius, and they both rose. The Dark Lord’s question could be felt. “My wife, my Lord,” said Lucius, the uncertainty that had been in his face a moment before not at all evident in his voice. “She wished to accompany me.”

“Ah yes,” said the Dark Lord. He sat in a chair with his legs outstretched, a wand between his hands. Narcissa looked up from the ground, into His eyes, not resisting as he searched her mind. His eyes were a deeper color, and his voice a more hollow rasp, than when she’d meet him nearly three years ago. Looking over the pallor of his skin and the odd bottomless quality of his stare, Narcissa felt with a stir of excitement and repulsion that he was not quite human. “Narcissa Malfoy, the woman behind the man.” He nodded, then looked at Lucius. “Well?”

He was permitting her to stay. Rookwood—their inside man in the Department of Mysteries—rose, offering his seat. Narcissa felt a surge of triumph, but she kept it out of her face as she seated herself in Rookwood's chair, next to Lucius. Other Death Eaters entered then, some of them sitting, others forced to stand. Bella, by choice, stood just behind the Dark Lord, at his elbow. Regulus made eye contact with her and grinned; Severus nodded in greeting. Narcissa watched and listened and kept her arm through Lucius’s. Near the end of the proceedings, as people turned to leave and carry out their assignments, she leaned over and murmured quietly in his ear.

“What is it?” queried the Dark Lord.

Lucius gave Narcissa a curious look. He cleared his throat. “My Lord, she wishes you to know—”

“I believe she can speak for herself, Lucius,” said the Dark Lord, looking mildly amused. Lucius nodded.

“My Lord,” said Narcissa, relishing that the most powerful being on Earth was giving her his full attention. “I only wished you to know, if it were to be of use to you, that our home is open to any of your servants or you yourself, any day or time of day, should you or your servants find yourselves in need of it. I can arrange it so that anyone with the Dark Mark may Apparate inside the manor at will.”

The Dark Lord fixed his inhuman gaze on her again and she felt her stomach flip in discomfort. She did her best to ignore it; she had nothing to hide, and as there wasn’t a chance of hiding anything form the Dark Lord anyway there was no reason to try. He had her home and her husband; He was welcome to her mind.

“Very well,” he said, and they left. 

“What was that about?” asked Lucius.

“Nothing,” said Narcissa. “I’m helping the war effort, that’s all.” But she had to force herself to not walk with a spring in her step. “I can see why you love working for him,” she commented. “He exudes control.”

Lucius looked extremely pleased. “Yes, he does,” he said, and he took Narcissa by the hips and spun her around. She laughed as he kissed her neck, then her mouth, and then left on his assignment.

From that point on, there was a sporadic stream of Death Eaters in their home—most just came for free food and tea, coffee, or firewhiskey. A few genuinely needed a place to hide. Narcissa suspected the house was being watched, but their grounds were so vast it was easy for the Death Eaters to slip in unnoticed. Narcissa went to many Death Eater meetings after that, sitting in, and saying nothing other than the occasional piece of insider’s knowledge. She whispered to Lucius at first, but when Lucius relayed the information he always gave her the credit, (“My Lord, Narcissa says…” or “My Lord, according to my wife…”) and so she eventually just spoke up on her own. The Dark Lord even called on her occasionally.

“You’ll have trouble getting into Raxby’s home. They have pet Kneazle and he can smell intruders before they step foot on the front porch.”

“Cirian’s a coward. Shoot fireworks in her direction and she’d give her firstborn to you without question.”

“Silvius is having an affair with the next-door neighbor and his son’s a Squib. … Yes, Rosier, you _could_ just threaten him if you liked,” an indignant sniff. “…but blackmail would be infinitely more efficient and less conspicuous.”

Lucius became even more smug with her contributions, glowing with pride when everybody quieted and listened to her, and she did the same when he reported success stories and suggested strategies. She missed one Death Eater meeting in late October when she completed a mini-assignment of her own (having tea and then dinner with her one-sided friendships). She returned home in the evening to find a scraggly Death Eater waiting in the Great Hall. (Dolohov was his name.) She gave Dobby instructions on which guest bedroom to put him in, and then went up to her own alone. She sat on the bed and slowly removed her gloves, staring at the fire in the grate, and then fell back and stared up at the ceiling. She heard the Death Eater hollering at Dobby in a distant part of the house. Shaking her head, she dressed for bed and went to sleep.

She woke slowly some time later. The fire had died down and gave off a dull, faint red light. She could just see the bedpost illuminated. She stared at it for some time before realizing that her arms were cradling another, and a solid warmth was against her back. She shifted.

“Sorry,” Lucius’s voice murmured in her ear. “I didn’t mean to wake you. But—” he paused. Narcissa turned over and faced him. He was propped up on one elbow, in black shirtsleeves. As usual in the dark, his hair glowed and reflected the little light, along with his eyes. His eyes were wide; she could see the whites, red in this light.

“What happened?”

He leaned over and kissed her. “There was a raid on the Order,” he whispered in her ear. She closed her eyes as his lips pressed against her skin. “A large one. There was a raid and he appointed me to lead. And we _succeeded_.” He pressed his lips to her ear again and she shivered. He chuckled, and there was a note of hysteria in his voice. Hysteria and heaviness and excitement and lust, and he pulled her close to him and climbed on top of her and his teeth glinted.

Later, still in the dark, Lucius breathed deeply beside her, arm heavy over her chest, asleep. Narcissa stared up at the ceiling that she could not see and tears welled from her eyes.

 _Stupid woman,_ she scolded herself. _Why are you crying?_ But inexplicable grief reared its ugly head and she wept silently without knowing why. And without knowing why, she eventually rolled over on her side and wrapped her limbs around Lucius’s body and rested her head against his chest and stroked his hair and felt his heart beating against cheek.

*

In the morning her bout with depression was forgotten and she continued to relish the view of a vast web of deception being woven about the Ministry, choking the life out of the weak and the uncertain. The Dark Lord's army of giants and werewolves were on the move. She felt only slightly disconcerted at the news that so-called Marauders were rumored to have joined the Order of the Phoenix. She cast her own threads, spoke in honeyed words and watched the insects dance. She smugly and regally accepted the deference of lower, sloppy Death Eaters. She read the papers with grim satisfaction as more and more deaths and disappearances were reported. The poison was being purged. And to make matters even better, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind who was the Dark Lord’s primary wingman.

“Narcissa, I’d like you to stay home today—get off.” Lucius kicked at the overly-attentive Dobby who had been polishing his boots. Dobby squealed and retreated to a corner, tugging on his ears.

“Why?” Narcissa waved Dobby over to lace up her shoes. He did so, keeping a cautious eye on Lucius as he swept by them to check his appearance in the mirror.

“There’s been a mistake,” Lucius ran his fingers over the worry lines in his forehead, smoothing them away. “It’s Carrow—he was drinking, let something slip. The Dark Lord will be very displeased. It’s not going to be pleasant.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Dobby finished and Narcissa pushed him away, though more gently than Lucius had done. He stood wringing his hands, looking nervous, and dabbing at his eyes with his pillowcase. “It’s my duty to be there, just as much as it is yours. He’ll be expecting me. I’m not going to bow out because there is going to be shouting.”

Lucius opened his mouth, then closed it again. “There may be more than shouting.”

“Well, Carrow’s an idiot,” Narcissa said briskly. “If he’s stupid enough to get drunk and give something away he deserves what’s coming to him.”

Lucius sighed and extended his arm. Narcissa took it and they went outside to Disapparate. The Death Eaters were currently meeting in an old abandoned house with a small dining room. The privileged were permitted to sit around the small round table (Lucius and Narcissa among them; Bella sat next to the Dark Lord, leaning forward on her arms and gazing into his face. The Dark Lord mostly ignored her. Rodolphus stood behind her seat with his hands clasped in front of him and his head bowed). Amycus , visibly pale and sweating, stood shifting his weight back and forth against the wall. Alecto stood next to him, grim-faced, occasionally pinching or poking him when he became too agitated. The Dark Lord didn’t seem to even realize he was there, and business carried on as usual, until:

“And what of Avery Sr.?” the Dark Lord asked in a very soft voice, his hand resting on the table, his fingers slowly twisting his wand. The room went dead silent. Amycus froze and went green. “Severus? You are familiar with this particular operation?”

Narcissa looked across the table. Severus sat with his hands folded in front of him, not exactly hunched over, but not sitting straight either. He seemed relaxed. Like Narcissa herself, Severus rarely spoke at Death Eater meetings, but when he did, everyone listened. He, too, was one of the Dark Lord’s most trusted.

“My Lord,” he said calmly. “Avery Sr. was apprehended by Order members last Friday at eleven o’clock in the evening. They had known where he was going to be and who he was attempting to kill. What’s more, they knew his contacts and frightened him into giving away the position of two more of our operatives. They would have continued, but…” He nodded in Lucius’s direction. The Dark Lord looked at Lucius.

“I was at the Ministry, my Lord,” said Lucius. “And I overheard what was happening. I took the liberty to slip out to where Avery was being held.” Narcissa pricked up her ears. She had not heard this before.

“And did you get him out?” asked the Dark Lord. He twisted the wand over and over. Amycus went green.

 _He already knows,_ thought Narcissa. _The Dark Lord knows what happened. He_ _’s drawing this out on purpose._

“Unfortunately, my Lord,” said Severus. “He was being held under extremely high security. It would have been impossible to get him out without more exposure and potential casualties. It was much safer, and much simpler, to silence him.”

“And how did you silence him?” asked the Dark Lord.

“I killed him, my Lord,” said Lucius, with a small, twisted smile. Bellatrix smirked. Narcissa blinked. “Infusion of wormwood.”

Narcissa looked straight ahead, not seeing anything, and not changing expression. Lucius had killed one of their own. He had murdered someone. He hadn’t told her. He looked pleased with himself. She wasn’t sure which of these three facts bothered her more.

“And how,” continued the Dark Lord. “Did all of this come to pass? Who is responsible?”

Amycus clutched at his robes. He looked faint. Alecto grabbed a handful of his robes and threw him forward. “It’s—it was—my fault, my Lord,” Amycus gasped, bent double, staring at the ground with wide eyes. Sweat dripped from his nose to the ground. The Dark Lord didn’t speak. He leaned back and picked up his wand, twisting it in his hand. “I—” Amycus stammered. “I was drinking in a pub, carrying on with everyday life, undercover, and I was speaking to—a stranger, I didn’t know her, all perfectly reasonable—I swear, my Lord, I would never give anything away, I would never let anything slip—she must have dropped veritaserum into my drink—”

“Liar,” said the Dark Lord coolly. Narcissa felt a chill. She glanced sideways at Lucius. He was watching without moving, so she looked back, stony-faced. “So…Amycus,” the name on the Dark Lord’s tongue came out in a hiss. “You have caused the necessary death of one of my servants and have forced others into hiding, removed from the services where they would have been most useful to me. You endangered some of my most faithful, my most loyal, who voluntarily responded at great personal risk to cover up your mistakes.”

“M-m-my Lord,”Amycus fell onto his knees, bending down so low his head disappeared beyond the edge of the table. “Master, I swear—please—it’s never—”

“Silence.” The Dark Lord sat looking down at the prostrate man for several long, terrible seconds. Then, for the first time, he addressed Bellatrix directly, and he did so with one word. “Bellatrix.”

“Yes, my Lord!” Bellatrix jumped to her feet and rounded the table all in one motion, drawing her wand. Her wide eyes danced and her bright lips spread in a delighted smile. Narcissa watched her with discomfort. Bellatrix pointed her wand at Amycus (who sobbed out another plea) and practically sang, “ _Crucio!_ ”

Amycus screamed. Narcissa flinched, unconsciously placing one hand across her stomach. Her lips parted in shock and she stared disbelieving at her sister as she smirked and twirled her wand in circles while Amycus made inhuman sounds, writhing on the floor. Lucius’s hand came down heavily on her knee. Narcissa snapped her gaze away from her sister and shut her mouth.

The Dark Lord held up his hand and Bellatrix lifted her wand, stepping back. “Take him outside,” he said, over the sound of Amycus’s whimpering.

“Of course, my Lord,” said Bellatrix. She reached down beyond Narcissa’s line of sight and came up with a handful of Amycus’s hair. She dragged him, scrabbling on all fours, from the room, and shut the door behind her. Narcissa relaxed, and then stiffened as Amycus began screaming again almost immediately.

“So,” said the Dark Lord. “We need to ensure there are no more leaks regarding those two. Are they well bestowed?”

“They are, my Lord,” said Severus. Narcissa tried to pay attention, but she kept getting distracted by the screams outside. She glanced at Lucius again. He looked utterly disinterested.

“And we need someone else to organize the dispatching of his target. It will, of course be more difficult now that the Order has been alerted.”

“My Lord,” Lucius spoke again. At some point he had removed his hand from Narcissa’s knee; she couldn’t remember him doing so. “I offer my services.”

“Very well, Lucius.”

The meeting continued, and Narcissa listened to Amycus without being able to stop herself until—mercifully—the screams stopped and the door opened again. The Dark Lord and Lucius took no notice. Bellatrix kicked and shoved the man into the room and he staggered to his feet and slumped against the wall. She returned to her seat and leaned forward again, as if nothing had happened. There was a splash of what looked like blood on her lip.

And there was unnamable doubt in Narcissa’s mind (doubt about what, she couldn’t place) as she watched Lucius’s delirious eagerness and pride and she looked back and forth between him and Bellatrix as they both leaned forward, intense and Bellatrix grinning madly, and she looked between them and the Dark Lord himself as he watched them all with his inhuman eyes. Narcissa smiled and laughed with all of them, but as she looked around the table and rooms she knew she was set apart and incomplete. She did not have the mark on her arm.

 _Perhaps that_ _’s it._ Perhaps that was the reason she could not be comfortable. She felt the slightest flicker of doubt when she saw Regulus standing in a corner; he, too, looked oddly ill.

“You killed Avery?” Narcissa asked him when they returned to the manor.

“Yes,” said Lucius. “Why, did you think I would dare lie to him?”

“But you killed him,” Narcissa repeated in disbelief.

“Yes,” Lucius repeated, looking at her with a frown. “What?”

“He was one of ours.”

“Until he betrayed us.”

Narcissa just stared at him, and remembered the small smile of pride on his face when he had announced it to the room, remembered the look of insane pleasure on Bellatrix’s face.

“What?” Lucius repeated impatiently. “I did what I had to.”

“Yes.” Narcissa shook herself out of her discomfort. “Yes, I know.”

*

There was one day in late December of 1979 when she came home and found Lucius sleeping on the sofa in their bedroom. He was curled on his side, too tall to fit stretched out, one arm underneath his head and the other dangling off the side, wand loose in his hand. Narcissa stood and looked at him, watching him sleeping in the full light of day and her heart swelled. She knelt in front of him, leaning her head against the arm of the sofa. She reached over and pulled the black ribbon from his hair. She smoothed the tangled tresses down.

 _Just a moment,_ she thought, mesmerized by the peace on his face. _Just for a moment._

*

Lucius woke with a cramp in his calf and a twitch in his shoulder. He shifted and opened his eyes, then started upwards. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. The shadows had changed; it was early evening. Narcissa was there, her head slumped on the cushion next to where his had been a moment before. His ribbon was twisted around her palm, her dress bunched up around her knees. Lucius got on the floor beside her and pulled off her shoes, then, as gently as he could, slipped his arms around her form and picked her up.

She stirred and opened her eyes as he set her down on the bed. “Hello, darling,” she said sleepily. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“I didn’t either,” said Lucius. He kissed her forehead. “I’ve got to go out now, but I wondered if I could ask a favor.”

"Of course, darling."

Lucius reached into his coat and brought took out a book. "The Dark Lord gave this to me to protect. I don't think we can keep it at Gringotts because we're under such high suspicion. Can you find someplace to keep it safe for me?"

"Certainly." Narcissa took the book and turned it over. "What is it?"

"I'm not sure, but he made it clear that it is of great importance and we are to show it to no-one."

"All right."

"Thank you." Lucius started to turn.

“Wait.” She set the book aside and took his hand but remained laying down. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“Hmm?” The mark on his arm began its tell-tale, impatient itching. Narcissa just looked at him. “What?”

“We’re having a child."

Something invisible sucked the air out of Lucius’s chest. He practically fell down onto the bed as his knees gave out. “ _What_?” Narcissa, watching him, visibly relaxed and smiled. She looked happier than he’d seen her in months – the thought made him uncomfortable. He pushed it aside. He leaned across her body and kissed her. “My dear, that’s wonderful! When?”

“I’m not sure,” said Narcissa. “I’ll need to make a potion to check. June, I expect.”

The itching turned to a slow burn but Lucius ignored it. He kissed her again, tangling his fingers in her hair, his mind leaving the war and the Dark Lord and spinning with the thought of a child. “I don’t know what to say,” he said at last. She sat up and kissed him.

“You’ve said enough,” she said softly. She glanced down and Lucius realized he was rubbing his arm against his leg. “Go on now, he’s calling you.”

“This is wonderful,” Lucius repeated, continuing to ignore his arm. “Do you need anything?”

She giggled. “Lucius, I’ve been pregnant for three months. I don’t suddenly need something just because you know.”

“How long have you known?”

“I’ve been suspicious for a while, but—”

“And you didn’t ask my opinion?” Lucius put a hand to his heart in mock offense.

Narcissa’s eyebrows bunched. “Are you angry?”

“Of course not, Love.” He kissed her for reassurance. “But you could have told me earlier.”

“I didn’t think you could handle the disappointment if I was wrong,” said Narcissa dryly. “And besides, you have other things to worry about. Go, before he gets angry with you.”

Lucius grimaced, then smiled through the pain. “I’d rather stay here.”

Narcissa smiled. She brushed his hair behind his ear. “That means the world to me, darling, but you do have to go.” She pointed at the door and scolded, “Don’t make me drag you out of here like some errant child—I’m pregnant.”

“Yes ma’am,” said Lucius, but he took her face in his hands and wasted several more precious seconds, risking several more times the wrath of the Dark Lord, before he reluctantly pulled away and turned his thoughts again towards Death.

*

Walburga Black liked the sound of her own voice. Narcissa had come to this conclusion long ago, but she was reminded of it as she sat having tea with Cygnus and his sister in Narcissa’s old home. “So happy for you, Narcissa, I am looking forward to having grand-nieces.” She snapped her fingers at her old house-elf (Kreacher, a very polite but somehow sickening little thing) and he immediately scampered to her side to tuck the blanket more firmly around her legs. “It’s only natural that you and your husband butt heads on the gender, of course. Men, they always want boys. Boys! Only thing they’re good for is carrying on the family name. Rambunctious, obnoxious little creatures. But little girls – they are the joys of motherhood! Ambitious but sensible, beautiful and charming—just you wait, Narcissa, there is no greater joy than raising your own little girl.”

Narcissa sipped her tea, resisted the urge to remind her aunt that she had two sons and no daughters, and said casually, “Actually, I am hoping for a boy.”

Walburga looked scandalized. “Why, Narcissa Black, what would make you say such a thing?”

“My name is Malfoy, Aunt. I’m married.” Narcissa took a biscuit.

Walburga either laughed or let out an indignant snort; with her, it was hard to tell which. “No, once a Black woman, always a Black woman. And Black women do love their little girls.”

Narcissa shrugged. “Well, I am hoping for a boy, because that is what Lucius wants.”

Walburga leaned over and patted her arm, eyes turning sorrowful. “Oh, my dear, you can’t hope for a boy just because that’s what your _husband_ wants.”

Narcissa reached for another biscuit just so she could have an excuse to shake off her hand. “Why not?”

“It’s the way men think,” Walburga lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You give in just a little, and they’ll begin to walk all over you. Women, our natural inclination is to be trusting and loving—but give them a little, and they’ll take a mile. They’ll walk over you for life. You’ll become his lovely little doormat of a wife. No,” she straightened up and dusted her hands free of imaginary grime. “You have to make your _mark_! Stand up to him! Never align your desires with his! Show him you will not be taken advantage of! Aren’t I right, Cygnus?”

Cygnus coughed and sank deeper into the couch, eyes fixed on the fire. Narcissa took a deep breath and did her best not to glare; she failed. “Lucius would never intentionally disrespect me, and I am more than capable of scolding him if he does.”

“But that’s how it starts!” Walburga wagged her finger in Narcissa’s face. “Oh, sure, they deceive you, they even deceive themselves, the young and the healthy and the powerful—any mistakes, they’re unintentional, they didn’t _mean_ it, they more than make up for it with gifts and honeyed words and romantic bedtime rituals—” Cygnus coughed again, but Walburga went on without giving any indication she’d noticed. “But it gets worse. You must entice him. You must keep something from him that he wants so he does not have a chance to leave you. You must keep the heir from him as long as you can.”

Narcissa was thinking very fondly of vomiting into a bowl. She pressed her knees together and gripped the handle of her cup so hard her wrist cramped. “It’s not as though I can control the sex, Aunt,” she said, not hiding the disgust.

“You can’t control the sex of the child, no, but you can control your preferences. Don’t try to make him appreciate you more by giving in to what he wishes and suppressing your own desires to align with his—”

“Aunt!” Narcissa interrupted, astonished. “I don’t want a boy because I feel inferior, I want a boy because that is what would make Lucius happiest.”

Walburga glared at her. “And does he want your happiness?”

“Of course he does. He loves me.”

“Oh, he says that _now_ , you feel that _now_ , but give it a few years—”

“We have been married for almost five years.”

“Five years is nothing. You are young still, you are beautiful still, so of course he is very attached to you. But women become more attached than men, dear. And if you willingly give him what he truly wants from you now—if you willingly give him a son now—then as you age and your figure is ruined he’ll drop you and abandon you for every new, young tramp that comes along and flutters her eyelashes at him. And with his wealth and power, there will be plenty.”

Narcissa put down her saucer with a clatter. She put a hand on the arm of her chair and turned towards Walburga. “You are my aunt,” she said quietly (this was true), “and I love you” (this was not true), “but I will not permit you to sit there and insult my husband.”

“I’m not insulting anybody,” grumbled Walburga. “I am stating facts.”

“Accusing my husband of being faithless is an insult to his honor and to our marriage,” Narcissa said firmly. She stood up and bent over to kiss Cygnus. “Lovely to see you, Father.”

“Where are you going?” Walburga demanded.

“I’m going home,” Narcissa said coldly. She began to leave the room and then hesitated, a war raging inside of her—a war between her pristine character, and the raging tiger of an insulted wife. The tiger won. She turned back around. “And until you learn to keep your poisoned tongue firmly inside that bigoted, vile head of yours, you are not welcome in our house.”

*

“Lucius,” Narcissa said fiercely that evening. “I want to have a boy.”

“I know,” said Lucius, looking a little frightened as she paced their sitting room. She paused and glared up at a wall that held family photographs. She viciously tore down one of her Aunt Walburga and practically threw it at Dobby who let out a little _oof!_ as it collided with his stomach. Lucius cautiously added, “We discussed it, remember?”

“You don’t understand,” said Narcissa. “We absolutely must have a boy now.”

*

Narcissa Malfoy was just sitting down to tea by herself in her sitting room when a symphony of _pops!_ and _cracks!_ , followed by a chorus of voices, made her put her cup down again. It was the middle of April. Narcissa hefted herself to her feet and went into the entrance hall. She counted seven Death Eaters, not including Lucius, all wearing very tattered robes splattered with blood and grime and goodness-knows-what.

“Mrs. Malfoy!” cried one of the still-masked. She glanced over him and the squat shape next to him.

“Hello, Amycus, Alecto,” she said. The Death Eaters began pulling back their hoods and removing masks. “Would you all like some tea?”

“Yes, please, Mrs. Malfoy,” chorused the Death Eaters meekly.

“I’m not hungry; I’d like a place to sleep, please,” asked another, looking positively green.

“I’ll have tea and tonic brought up, Augustus,” said Narcissa. Lucius said nothing, standing a little apart and looking with rapt boredom at the wall. Severus Snape was at his side. She glanced at them, then snapped her fingers and gave instructions to the house-elves. The Death Eaters broke back into noisy conversation as they went into the dining room, with the exception of Augustus Rookwood who was staggering upstairs. “Judging by the noise level, I’d say you were successful,” she commented to Lucius and Severus.

“Completely,” said Lucius, and he put a hand against the wall. Only then did she see that Severus's arm was supporting his weight. Narcissa strode over to him and took his arm.

“You’re hurt. Come with me.” She nodded to Severus. "Thank you."

Severus nodded back, silently. "Narcissa. Lucius." He did not go to the dining room, but immediately left the way they had come.

“Don’t bother, Narcissa, I can manage,” Lucius said even as she dragged him into the sitting room and pushed him into a loveseat. “You’re pregnant,” he protested as she got down heavily on her knees and pulled out the emergency potions box from underneath.

“Am I? I’d forgotten.” Narcissa put her hand on the arm of the loveseat and pulled herself up. Lucius held out a hand but she knocked it away and sat down quickly with an ungraceful plop. “Drink this,” she ordered, giving him her still-hot rejected tea and pulling off his outer robes and pulling out her wand. "What happened?"

"Not important. Be sure to thank Severus for me. I may not have made it out without him."

Half an hour later, she left him snoozing on the seat as she went back into the dining room. She seated herself at the end and accepted another cup of tea, smiling and nodding and trying not to wince at the babble of noise. She wondered briefly what had happened to Regulus; she couldn't remember seeing him for quite some time now.

“Really grateful for your hospitality, Mrs. Malfoy—”

“So we went down to Surrey—”

“Big group of Order and ministry members, all trying to be secret—”

“Threw a curse at the wall—”

“Really is good of you—”

“—whole room basically exploded—”

“—might’ve destroyed us all, but Malfoy and Rookwood took the brunt of it—”

“—got what we needed, anyway—”

“—bless them!”

Narcissa leaned over. “Rodolphus, where is Bellatrix?”

Rodolphus, spooning mash and gravy into his mouth, shrugged. “Dunno. Didn’t come. Dark Lord had her doing something else.”

“Ol’ Bella doesn’t like to leave his side,” chirruped Evan Rosier. “I’m amazed you’re not more jealous, LeStrange.”

“Shut your mouth, Rosier,” growled Rodolphus. Narcissa was reminded again of a spaniel.

“She’s a good girl, Bella, always showing us the fun side of life—she’s batshit crazy, of course, but—”

“I SAID SHUT YOUR MOUTH ROSIER,” roared Rodolphus, rising to his feet and pushing his chair so hard it fell over backwards.

Narcissa winced and sighed as Rosier yelled something back. Her head began to pound. She motioned to the kitchen house elf. “Don’t let them break anything,” she told it wearily. “And give them whatever they like from the cellar.”

Narcissa grabbed a sweater and escaped outside. The wind whipped grey clouds through the sky and mist threatened to turn into rain. Narcissa walked across the courtyard, past the fountain, kicked at a peacock who hobbled up looking for scraps, and went in among the hedges. There was a bench in a small alcove that Lucius had put there at her suggestion. She lowered herself on it and just sat there, out of sight of the house, for several minutes. She breathed in the air that smelled of rain and ran her fingers along the wood and tried not to think.

_It_ _’s not for much longer. It can_ _’t be for much longer._

She shivered and stood again, wandering further into the maze of hedges. Just before she turned a corner, she felt the sneakoscope she’d taken to carrying with her begin to whir. Then she did turn it and nearly collided with another person. Narcissa gasped and started, clutching her sweater close to her throat. The other person also started and took several steps backwards, wand raised.

“ _Merlin_ , you scared me,” Narcissa gasped, and laughed lightly.

“My apologies, Mrs. Malfoy,” said the Auror. He lowered his wand.

“But—you are—Longbottom, is that right?” Narcissa frowned. “What are you doing in my gardens?”

“There was a report of suspicious activity near your property,” said Longbottom, eyeing her.

“Of what sort?” Narcissa’s eyes widened. “Oh, Merlin, it isn’t—You-Know-Who’s sympathizers, is it?”

“We don’t know. I was sent to investigate.” Longbottom kept a straight face, but Narcissa could imagine the debate raging inside his head.

Narcissa glanced over her shoulder and placed a hand over her belly. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Longbottom glance away. “Have you not found anything?” She queried, looking back.

“No.” Narcissa could practically hear him say “ _not yet_.”

“Thank goodness for that,” said Narcissa. “You must be freezing. Come in for a cup of tea.”

“I’m not finished searching the grounds,” said Longbottom immediately. Narcissa intentionally flinched. “What are you doing outside on a day like this?”

“I had a headache,” she glanced over her shoulder again. “I haven’t been feeling well lately, with this and all.” She gestured at her belly. Longbottom looked away again. “I thought the fresh air would be good for me.”

“You’d best get inside,” said Longbottom, making eye contact again.

Narcissa smiled. “Yes, of course.” She added as she walked away, “Do come in when you’re finished.”

She went slowly up to the house, went slowly inside, and went slowly to the dining room where the Death Eaters were now in various stages of drunkenness. She sat down at the table, placed the sneakoscope on top in front of her, deactivated it, and drank a cup of tea.

“Cissy, you’re getting big now, when are you due?” Evan Rosier chirruped happily. She smiled at him and didn’t answer. She had Dobby fetch her a quill and paper and she wrote two separate messages. “Give this to Rookwood, and this to Lucius,” she instructed him and he vanished. Those two, and only those two, did she trust to not lose their heads. She told the other house-elves to begin clearing away the mess on the table and prepare to set it for a separate tea. She also told them to put anti-Disapparition spells into place.

Only when her favorite kitchen house-elf came and whispered in her ear, “Frank Longbottom is on his way to the front door,” did she stand up and send sparks from her wand down the table, silencing the rabble.

“Do not lose your heads,” she said calmly. “I want you all to get up very quietly and very calmly. Go to the cellar, wait for five minutes, and then – and only then – will the spells on this house be released and you may disapparate to wherever you would like to go.” She sat back down.

“What for, Cissy?” complained Evan Rosier.

“Because,” said Narcissa. “One of the ministry’s most dangerous Aurors is coming to tea.”

The next two minutes were a madhouse, in which several Death Eaters tried and failed to disapparate against her orders. But they all vanished down to the cellars and the house-elves quickly reset the table. Narcissa had not moved since sitting down again, and she was sipping her tea when the house-elves let Longbottom in.

She smiled at him as he poked his head into the room. “Please sit down. Are we safe?”

“Safe?” repeated Longbottom as he seated himself across from her. He set his wand on the table, she noted.

Narcissa nodded towards the deactivated sneakoscope. “We have many…acquaintances and relatives that are displeased with our close relationship with the minister,” she said calmly. “That’s why you were searching the grounds, wasn’t it? So good of the minister to send you; do give him my thanks.”

“The minister didn’t send me,” said Longbottom. “Taggins did.”

“The Head Auror?” Narcissa raised her eyebrows and set down her tea. “Was the activity report as severe as all that?”

“I’m afraid so,” said Longbottom. He picked up his tea but didn’t drink it, scanning the dining room instead. “Who is it that are— _displeased_ with you and your husband?”

Narcissa looked down into her teacup. “I’d rather not name names, if it’s all the same to you. I have no firsthand knowledge. No one says anything to my face, of course. It’s just gossip—terribly imprecise, but terribly accurate. All I know is that I can never be sure who my true friends are.”

“How true,” said Longbottom. Narcissa smiled. “Where is your husband?”

“Home,” said Narcissa. “He’s just stepped out to place an order for dragon tear-infused red wine.”

“Couldn’t your house-elves do that?” Longbottom glanced at the small kitchen house-elf who shuffled her feet nervously.

“No,” said Narcissa. “It’s a delicacy. I don’t trust that job to them. I always place it myself.”

“Then why is Lucius doing it?”

“I told you, I’m not feeling well today. Lucius stayed home today to help me. Ah—”

The doors opened and Lucius strode in, smelling of the outdoors and fully dressed in a suit, scarf, gloves, and his walking stick. Even she couldn't tell that he had been gravely injured less than an hour ago. “Oh, hello, Longbottom,” he said, as he strode into the room. “What brings you here?” He put a hand on Narcissa’s shoulder and bent to kiss her forehead. “How are you feeling, my dear?”

“A little better, darling, thank you,” said Narcissa, smiling.

“Sorry I wasn’t here to receive you, Longbottom,” said Lucius, straightening, keeping his hand on Narcissa’s shoulder.

“Where were you?” asked Longbottom bluntly. Narcissa was disappointed in his lack of panache.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “Just had to place an order for Narcissa. What brings you here?”

“Someone filed a report at the Auror’s office about suspicious activity, Malfoy,” said Longbottom.

“Good gracious,” said Lucius, “Not here?”

“Yes, Malfoy,” said Longbottom, placing his hand over his wand, but not picking it up. “Here.”

“What sort of suspicious activity? Where? When?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say.” Longbottom’s fingers curled around his wand.

Lucius stayed very still. “Can’t, or won’t?”

“Lucius, darling,” said Narcissa quickly. “I was thinking—perhaps Mr. Longbottom can give us his opinion now that he’s here—we should have extra security put up around the house.”

“Yes, I think that’s a good idea,” said Lucius, not taking his eyes off of Longbottom. “We don’t want the ministry to continue to feel it’s necessary to send their guard dogs sniffing around.”

Narcissa squeezed his hand and he fell silent. “What do you suggest, Mr. Longbottom?”

Longbottom leaned back in his seat and eyed the two of them. “Whatever you feel is best, Malfoy,” he said. “Now if you’ll permit this guard dog to sniff around the house—just for security measures—”

“Yes, please do,” said Narcissa.

Lucius turned to her. “My dear, I must disagree—”

“Please let him, Lucius, it would make me feel so much better,” said Narcissa. Lucius’s jaw worked for a moment then he turned back to Longbottom.

“Whatever Mr. Longbottom feels is best,” he said stiffly. Longbottom nodded, eyed the two of them a moment longer, then went to the hallway. Lucius wordlessly cast a Muffliato charm before looking down at her and asking, “How did you know he was coming?”

“I went outside while the others were eating and found him in the garden,” said Narcissa. “I invited him in for tea.”

“What? Immediately?” Lucius looked horrified. “What did you do that for?”

“The Order knows we are in league with the Dark Lord. If I had invited him to stay in the garden he would have been suspicious and come in immediately.”

Lucius closed his eyes and shook his head. “My dear, you continually amaze me.”

*

There was a new Minister of Magic by the name of Millicent Bagnold. Lucius had to start over. He did not yet have her trust.

*

“Bellatrix,” Narcissa cornered her sister, much to her sister’s irritation, directly after the end of the next Death Eater meeting. “What happened to Regulus? Nobody will tell me. I haven’t seen him in—”

“Ages,” interrupted Bellatrix. “I know. Haven’t either. He’s disappeared. Chickened out and run off, I expect. The coward.”

Narcissa chewed her lower lip. “Have you heard from Sirius?”

“That old clotpole?" Bellatrix spat. “High-up Order member last I heard. Traitor. I hope I see his face when he's killed."

*

Narcissa Malfoy had their child on the 5th of June, and something went wrong. Perhaps it was the intermarriage genetics coming into play again. She did not remember a lot of it. There was intense, hazing pain that could not be cured with spells and a hoard of healers from St. Mungo’s that the kitchen house-elf had had the sense to fetch when Narcissa fainted without warning.

Her next memories were blurred shapes, lots of shouting, and feeling the temperature on her legs continually fluctuate as she bled, stopped, and bled again. She had only two clear memories. One was of a much-loved, much-missed voice adding its shouts to the mixture and then addressing her as large and gentle fingers stroked her forehead, though she couldn’t remember the words. The second memory was an infant’s cry.


	7. Chapter 7

**PART 3**

**Remember When We Were Family?**

 

“Narcissa?”

She could taste the distant pain.

“Narcissa, Love.”

She opened her eyes and looked into two wide, eager, terrified eyes.

“Narcissa?”

A flood of panic. She struggled.

A gentle pressure on her shoulders. “No, Love, don’t move.”

“Luc…”

“No, don’t speak either, you’re all right.” There was movement to the other side of him, faint whispers. They weren’t alone in the room.

She gasped and swallowed. Her mouth was dry. She became aware of Lucius’s hand in hers and she squeezed his fingers. “Baby,” she whispered.

Lucius closed his eyes, a small smile playing over his lips. “He’s fine. He’s fine, Narcissa, you frightened us, that’s all.”

Narcissa relaxed. The baby was all right. And the baby was a boy. She couldn’t help but feel smug. Just wait until Walburga heard… A Healer bustled over and forced something bitter down her throat. She fell asleep again and woke again with her mind clear. Lucius was holding her other hand. She turned her head and saw him in bed beside her, lying on top of the covers and fully dressed, face turned to the side. She slowly sat up. The pain was gone, but she felt groggy and knew she must have taken a good many potions. Lucius stirred beside her and then he shot upwards and put his arm around her shoulders.

“Are you all right to move?”

“I think so.” Narcissa let him help her lean back against a wall of pillows.

“Are you thirsty?” Lucius scrambled off the bed and poured a glass of water from a nearby table, holding it out to her. She wasn’t, but she drank it anyway, searching the room, which looked far too empty.

“Where is he?"

“In the other room. I’ll get him.” Lucius quickly returned with a small bundle. He handed him to her and climbed back up beside her.

It was June 7th when Narcissa first properly saw her son, and it was accompanied with sorrow that she had missed the first moments. She ran her fingers through the wisps of light hair.

“What color are his eyes?”

“Grey.”

“Like his father,” she said softly.

Lucius put his head close to hers, but was careful to not put any weight on her shoulder. She felt his breath on her neck. “What do you think about names? You still want to name him after a constellation?”

“Mmm,” said Narcissa, tracing their son’s cheek with her fingers. He let out a whimper and stirred. “I’ve thought about Draco.”

“Dragon?” said Lucius. “I quite like that.”

Narcissa looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “You sound surprised.”

“Your father’s name is Cygnus, his sister’s name is Walburga, and his brother’s name is Alphard. I think my concern is justified.”

She smacked his shoulder.

*

The death toll was rocketed upwards. Lucius was getting more and more excited. After she made a full recovery (Witch Weekly’s gossip columns were delighted with the unfortunate event) Narcissa went to a Death Eater meeting, reluctantly leaving Draco behind in the care of Dobby. There was a lot of laughter. Bellatrix was ecstatic and when the Dark Lord ordered an attack on Muggles in a strategic area in Greenwich she laughed the loudest of any of them. Narcissa smiled and pretended not to notice when Lucius tried to catch her eye.

The St. Mungo Healers told her what exactly had gone wrong in her pregnancy, and what they had done to save her life.

She could never have children again.

*

Narcissa appeared in public with Draco for the first time and her circle of admirers went mad.

“Narcissa, he’s just beautiful,” gushed Mattie Shafiq, leaning over her where she sat underneath a flowering tree. “Looks _just_ like Lucius, absolutely _precious_. You must be so _proud_.”

Draco screwed up his crystal-clear, storm-grey eyes at the babble of voices. Narcissa gave him her fingers to hold and silently prayed that he would not begin to cry; she’d been up most of last night, despite Lucius’s grumpy retorts that she should just let the house-elves deal with him.

_“House-elves raise our son for us, Lucius? You must be joking,_ _”_ she had said back just as grumpily as she returned to bed for what must have been the twentieth time.

_“It wouldn_ _’t be raising our son, it would be keeping him quiet for a few hours._ _”_ Lucius had mumbled into the pillow as he turned his back to her. Narcissa had scowled and done likewise, reluctantly letting him have the last word.

“And I know Cygnus must be thrilled to have a grandson, seeing as he never had any sons of his own—”

“Ecstatic,” said Narcissa absently as she eyed the punch bowl. Draco chewed on her finger, and Narcissa debated whether she should allow him to continue to do the undignified thing or risk pulling her finger away lest he begin to squall again. Draco won; she allowed him to chew her finger.

“I read that the birth was absolutely dreadful, should you even be out?” A grandmotherly Elaina patted her arm.

“As you can see, I am in perfect health,” said Narcissa, restraining her withering glare. That wasn’t quite true; they’d told her to keep off her feet as much as possible, those damn talkative St. Mungo’s Healers.

“Oh, look, Narcissa Malfoy’s had her baby,” said an excited voice. Narcissa glanced up. Across the lawn, a young woman she didn’t recognize pointed and grinned at her companion. She didn’t recognize the companion either, but she fixed Narcissa with a horrible hatred-filled stare. Narcissa was taken aback. She normally simply ignored those she did not know (why waste time on those not important enough to be acquaintances with her?) but as she looked directly into those eyes, an odd, twisting chill went down her spine. Without realizing she was doing it, she lifted Draco from the crook of her arm and pressed him against her chest, both arms wrapped around him. The stranger turned her poisonous gaze away.

“Thirsty, Narcissa?” Mattie came back (Narcissa hadn’t realized she’d left), looking breathless, and holding two glasses of the punch.

“Mattie, dear, do you know that woman?” Narcissa gazed at the backs of the retreating strangers, not taking the glass. Deprived of Narcissa’s finger, Draco chewed on the lace of her neckline.

“Hummmm…” Mattie cocked her head, peering after them. “No, I don’t think so. Want me to find out?”

“No, no matter,” said Narcissa, patting Draco as he let out huffing whimpers that meant he was thinking about crying. The day felt suddenly too hot; there was sweat on her neck.

*

"Something extremely…strange has happened," Lucius mused, holding Draco for a rare moment as he slept and as Narcissa changed her clothes.

"What?"

"It's not certain yet. But Severus Snape overheard something in—the Hogs Head, I believe, in Hogsmeade. Some sort of prophecy."

"Prophecy? What about?" Narcissa sat down beside him and enjoyed the scene of Lucius absently rubbing Draco's back.

"It's not clear," he said. "But the Dark Lord seems to think it could reveal the only obstacle remaining to him. Once we discern who it is, we can be rid of them, and the last thing preventing his rise will be destroyed."

"That's wonderful, darling," said Narcissa, doing her best to hide her distaste. Oh, well. She leaned her head on Lucius's shoulder and touched Draco's hand where it rested on her husband's chest. Perhaps this one death would finally end the war and all of the rest of the bloodshed.

*

It had been quiet. Draco was in bed; the weather was turning cold. Lucius had been quiet and irritable, grumbling about the tedium of living a double life gradually being exposed. Narcissa’s kitchen house-elf had cracked the window for her – just enough to let in a fresh breeze – and stoked the fire. The sun lingered in the sky; there were a few hours of daylight left. Narcissa peeked out the window and observed Lucius standing with his back to the manor, walking stick and hand, looking out over the gardens like a lion surveying his territory.

“The poor man’s bored out of his mind,” she said, half to herself. She held in her hand a folded note that had just come from Mattie. (“The woman’s name was Green. She does very little as far as I can see; works at a robe shop in Diagon Alley.”)

“Mistress?” The kitchen house-elf paused in her fluffing-up of the pillows on the bed, balancing precariously on a tall stool. She seemed to have decided Narcissa’s well-being was her personal responsibility since the fainting incident and shadowed her like a dedicated spaniel. Narcissa wasn’t complaining; in the loneliness that was the manor, it was kind of nice. There had been no Death Eater meetings for a few weeks now; it was almost ominously quiet.

Narcissa wandered over to her new mirror (purchased by Lucius when Narcissa mentioned that her old one had taken to speaking only in rhyme to the tune of “Pop Goes the Weasel”) and surveyed herself in it, turning in all directions, stretching the fabric of her dress taunt to she could see the shape of her body through it.

“You’ve recovered and regained much of your old shapeliness since the birth,” said the mirror smartly. It was the exact opposite of her old mirror; rather than speaking in riddles, it told the truth with prompt bluntness.

“Thanks,” said Narcissa distractedly. “Black genes. Unfasten me,” she said to the house-elf, who quickly obliged. Narcissa slipped out of the long tresses and surveyed herself in her underwear. “What do you think, black or red?” she said to the mirror.

“That depends,” said the mirror. “Do you want fantasy or dedication?”

“Do you have an opinion?” She addressed the house-elf, who froze in the middle of folding Narcissa’s dress, looking petrified. “Or do you house-elves not do this sort of thing?”

“I don’t have an opinion,” squeaked the house-elf. Narcissa laughed as she scampered from the room.

“What’ll it be?” asked the mirror.

“Both, I think,” said Narcissa. “We haven’t been together since before Draco. He’s too worried about my health.” She picked up her wand from the dresser and transfigured her underwear into strappy things of red silk and black lace.

“Gaudy, but it gets your intentions across nicely,” said the mirror promptly.

“So should I get dressed again, or wait like this?” Narcissa turned in a circle and frowned, poking disapprovingly at a remnant of baby fat that hung stubbornly to her left hip.

“The former is prudish, the latter is too promiscuous to be seductive,” said the mirror with heavy notes of disapproval—not in her intentions, evidentially, but in her sloppy efforts to carry them out. “I’d go with a nice silk dressing gown.”

“Right,” Narcissa swept it off the back of a chair. “I’ll just go wait downstairs for him then. And do keep quiet when we come in.”

*

The stress alleviated and became insignificant. The war faded: the bloodshed, the worry, the anger, the emotional distance evaporated. Lucius was _here_ , full and present, one hand on her hip, the other on the small of her back holding her nearly suspended, mouth hot against her neck. She clawed at the skin of his back, wrapping her legs about his hips, locking her ankles together. The heat of his thighs bled through the fabric of his trousers. Lucius set her down and lay flush on top of her, propped up on his elbows, kissing her mouth, her neck, her collarbone –the smell of whiskey hung hot and heavy, mixed with the smoke of the perfumed fire.

Damn the war—damn the mudbloods—damn the Dark Lord—the Death Eaters—the Ministry—the cause—the war—

None were important. None could compete with this.

Lucius stopped kissing her. His forehead fell against her shoulder. She felt the cushion against her head constrict as Lucius’s fingers tightened into fists.

“Damn,” he muttered against her shoulder. Narcissa opened her eyes. “Damn it, after all this time—”

“What’s wrong?” Narcissa asked, even though she knew perfectly well what was wrong.

Lucius lifted his head. “We have to go,” he said, making no move to get up. He traced her skin with his fingers from her chin, across her neck, down to her shoulder. He leaned down and kissed her, slowly, then just looked into her eyes and ran his thumb across her lip. “I’m sorry.”

She reached up and smoothed the hair at his temples. “It’s not your fault, darling,” she said, and she unlocked her ankles with a deep taste of bitterness. “Later.”

“Yeah.” Lucius sounded unconvinced. He got to his feet and picked up her robe from where it lay crumpled on the ground. Narcissa sat up and took it from him, shrugging it on. She took his offered hand and they both quickly climbed the stairs up to their bedroom. Lucius quickly dressed appropriately. Narcissa watched him, clutching her robe at her neck. Lucius glanced up and frowned. “Why aren’t you getting dressed?”

“I don’t think I’m going, darling.”

“What?” Lucius stared at her blankly. “Why not?”

“I want to stay here with Draco.”

Lucius looked puzzled. “He’s asleep.”

Narcissa pictured the cold hatred on the mudblood Green’s face. “I’m not comfortable leaving him alone. Did you – did any of you kill anyone by the name of Green recently?”

“Green?” Lucius stood with his cloak over his arm and walking stick in hand, ready to leave but not willing to do so. “Is that a mudblood name? I have no idea. Why?”

“There are people – people know where our allegiance lies, darling. People—little people—hate us and what we stand for.”

“That’s been true for a long time,” said Lucius, beginning to sound impatient. “It’s never bothered you before.”

“We didn’t have a son before. He can’t defend himself if anyone - calls.”

“And gets through our security?” Lucius snorted. “We have house-elves—”

“I’m not leaving our son with house-elves!”

Lucius clutched his arm. “So bring him along, then.”

Narcissa laughed. She didn’t mean to; she didn’t want to take her bitterness out on Lucius. “Take our baby to a Death Eater meeting?” She giggled. A thundercloud descended over Lucius’s face. “I’ll just cover his ears the next time my sister tortures someone, shall I? Cover his eyes when Carrow displays the locks of hair cut from his latest kill?”

The scowl melted away from Lucius’s face. “No one’s going to be tortured, Love,” he said gently.

“And Carrow?” Her voice held the remnants of her laugh. She pressed her first to her mouth.

“Carrow’s a sadist.”

Narcissa watched the flames in the hearth. “What does that make Bella?”

“Bella—” Lucius started, then stopped. “Bellatrix does what the Dark Lord orders her to do,” he said after a pause. “As do I.”

“Yes,” Narcissa murmured. “As do you.”

Lucius’s knuckles were white as he gripped his arm, but he still gave no signs of leaving. “Are you all right?”

_No, I_ _’m not, but that isn_ _’t your fault._ “Yes, darling, of course I am.” Narcissa continued to watch the flames. “Go on.”

“So you’re not coming,” said Lucius in a defeated tone of voice.

“No.”

“All right.” Lucius stalked from the room. Narcissa rubbed her eyes.

*

Lucius could not quite quell the feeling of betrayal as he Apparated to the Death Eater meeting point, which was now a small country tumble-down cottage. He was concerned for Narcissa, of course – she frequently voiced her disapproval of the necessary violence. It was endearing, usually, but now it was just maddening. She had never let her dislike of violence cause her to leave his side before. Why couldn’t she just come right out and say why she was refusing to come? Was she angry at him for leaving? It wasn’t _his_ fault the Dark Lord had called him at this particular moment – and it wasn’t the Dark Lord’s fault, he had a right to call him whenever he pleased -

Voices went silent as he entered the room, and the Dark Lord’s severe gaze went to his face. Lucius went down on one knee and bent his head.

“You are tardy, Lucius.”

“I crave your forgiveness, Master,” said Lucius. “I was with my wife.”

The Dark Lord could doubtless sense his frustration—emotional and physical both. His voice was almost amused, if very dry. “Working to build up my supply of loyal servants, I trust.” Lucius didn’t answer. Bellatrix tittered. “Is that your excuse, then?”

“There is no excuse to not immediately answering your call, my Lord,” said Lucius promptly. “I have betrayed your trust.”

“Quite right,” said the Dark Lord softly and Lucius’s heartrate quickened. “You have my pardon, Lucius, this one time, as you have been my most faithful, useful servant to this point. Do not test my patience.”

“No, my Lord,” said Lucius, feeling a wave of relief that he kept out of his voice. He got to his feet and took the seat reserved for him. A good many of the lower, jealous Death Eaters looked a little disappointed; they were all wrangling for his place of favor. Evan Rosier looked straight ahead into space, lips slightly pursed, twiddling his thumbs.

*

Lucius returned to the manor the next day, but contrary to their agreement of the day before they did not pick up where they had left off. He kept to himself or to his study, muttering under his breath, his eyes regaining the distant, hard look that, for that single evening, had vanished. She mourned its return. He spoke to Narcissa as politely as everywhere, but affection dried up like an old raison

Narcissa Malfoy did not complain (Lucius had to do what he had to do) but she continued to stay home with Draco.

*

“Evan,” she stopped Rosier on his lazy, swaggering walk to the dining room in the middle of November. “Could you help me with something?”

Rosier looked surprised. “Uh, yeah, of course.”

“I would like you to duel me.”

Rosier glanced over his shoulder. “Er – say what?”

“I would like you to duel me,” said Narcissa calmly. “I’m quite rusty. The last time I used any sort of defense or combative magic was in the dueling club at Hogwarts, and that was seven years ago.”

Rosier looked extremely uncomfortable. “Look, Narcissa, I’d hate to think that you’d – I mean, you shouldn’t have to use anything, shouldn’t you?”

“Perhaps not, but I’d rather be prepared. I have a son and husband I need to be able to defend, if I must.”

Rosier scratched the back of his neck. “I guess, sure, Narcissa. When?”

“Whenever you’re ready.”

*

Evan Rosier dropped by several times in the next few months, and he chatted and laughed with Narcissa, and kindly gave her advice as she slowly sharpened her old dueling skills.

“Evan,” she said irritably in late December. “How am I supposed to practice shields if you don’t try to curse me?”

They stood in the wide hall, the only people in the house other than Draco. The kitchen house-elf peeped curiously from behind a corner. “I’m not going to curse you, Narcissa,” exclaimed Rosier. “Lucius would kill me.”

“Lucius won’t know,” she said. “You said my charm was plenty powerful to block curses.”

Rosier rubbed his neck. “Yeah, but—”

“So what’s the problem?” She crossed her arms. “If mudbloods or Aurors come knocking they aren’t going to politely ask if my charm is powerful enough, will they?” She assumed the dueling stance. “Come on now. Curse me.”

Rosier stood, looking uncertain, then also assumed position. He hesitated, then asked, “Do you have Oculus potion on hand?”

“For heaven’s sake!” Narcissa snapped, “Don’t let me know what curse you’re going to use!”

Rosier took a deep breath. “ _Conjunctivitis!_ ”

Narcissa impatiently knocked the spell away and dropped her stance. “If you aren’t going to try and curse me properly –”

Rosier jumped forward. “ _Expulso!_ ”

Narcissa gasped. The explosion knocked her backwards. Her heels slid against the hardwood floors; a portrait of Lucius’s great-great-great Aunt fell to the floor with a scream. For an instant she was surrounded in blue light, but then it vanished. She was unhurt. She only had a moment to take in Rosier’s pale, somewhat horrified expression, before a terrible voice roared through the corridor—

“ _WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU_ _’RE DOING_?”

Rosier whirled. Stalking towards him with his wand aimed at his heart, eyes ablaze, cloak billowing, Lucius looked prepared to kill.

“Lucius, you’re back,” said Rosier weakly.

“I’m not going to ask you again, Rosier,” Lucius snarled. He reached the smaller man and snatched at his collar, shoving him against the wall with his wand tip pressed against the hollow of his throat.

“Lucius,” Narcissa hastily crossed over to him. “I asked him to duel me.”

Lucius ignored her, glaring into Rosier’s face. “Just—trying—to help?” Rosier managed. Lucius’s lip curled.

“Lucius,” Narcissa hissed, gripping his wand-hand. “Don’t be an idiot!” She pulled it back, slowly.

Lucius, still glaring at Rosier, released his jacket finger by finger. “Don’t,” he said in a deathly whisper, “Ever. Try. To. Curse. My. Wife. Again.”

“Lucius, I asked him to,” Narcissa repeated. Without a glance at her, Lucius stalked from the room.

“I hope you’re satisfied,” said Rosier, sulkily rubbing his neck.

“Sorry,” said Narcissa. “I thought he was going to be out all day.”

“Well, I’ll be off, before he changes his mind and decides to murder me.” Rosier straightened his jacket. “Fair charm though, Narcissa. I think you’ll do all right.”

“Thanks for everything, Evan.”

He smiled at her and went the direction of Lucius to Apparate away.

*

Rosier Sr. was killed suddenly. Lucius increased the security on the house. Narcissa asked him what was going wrong. He said, “Nothing.” The Daily Prophet reported a massive defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Name’s giant allies.

*

Narcissa began to sleep in the nursery with Draco, leaving the bedroom to Lucius. He didn’t seem to notice. She practiced combat daily against old furniture that she enchanted to attack her.

*

Lucius was so surrounded by enemies at the ministry that the Dark Lord ordered him to stop going; he was more valuable alive, and he wasn’t getting much new information anyway. Narcissa increased the security on the manor and never left it.

*

Death Eaters still came by the manor, but they came in ones and twos and never stayed long. Narcissa kept one closet open to them so they could Apparate inside the manor if they had express permission. All others were barred.

*

Draco turned one, and things weren’t going any better. Lucius acknowledged the event with a cold kiss and a grimacing smile. The year was 1981.

*

Mulciber was killed by the Auror Alastor Moody. Narcissa read about it in the _Daily Prophet_. The paper fell to the ground. “Mulciber’s dead?” She blocked Lucius’s path to confirm.

“Yes, yes,” said Lucius impatiently. “Damn Order—we’re tracking them down. Let me past, Narcissa, He’s waiting—”

She stepped out of his way. “Do you even care?” she demanded.

Lucius paused, glancing at her. “No time to care,” he said shortly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m on my way with Travers to kill the McKinnons.”

*

Narcissa was in the nursery with all of the curtains drawn and Draco was sleeping. The kitchen house-elf poked her head in and whispered, “Mistress, you have a guest.”

Narcissa had dry tears on her cheeks and an arm over her face. “Give them whatever they want and send them away.”

She hopped back and forth on her feet. “He wants to speak with you.”

“Is it Rookwood?”

“No…it’s Severus Snape.”

Narcissa removed the arm from her face and sat up. “Snape?” He had never come to the manor alone before. “Tell him I’ll be out in a moment. Give him some tea.”

Snape only spoke with her for a few minutes, and he did not drink the tea. After he left, Narcissa moved Draco to the bedroom and she sat up until Lucius came home the next day. It was late afternoon. The date was October 31st, 1981.

She sat in a dark corner and watched him as he threw his cloak onto the bed and began to undress. He looked up when he was partially re-dressed and started, grabbing at the bedpost.

“Merlin, Narcissa!” he snapped. “You startled me.”

“Shh.” Narcissa nodded at the cradle that sat beside her.

Lucius spoke more quietly, with a short glare at the crib as he buttoned up his shirt. “Why’s he in here?”

Narcissa ignored the question. “Where are you going tonight?”

Lucius looked up, frowned, and flicked his wand at a lamp. It lit up. He peered at her. “Did you sleep last night?”

“I asked where you are going.”

Lucius took his Death Eater cloak from the wardrobe, shook it out and shrugged it over his shoulders. “London, if you must know.” He reached for his gloves.

“Are you attacking the ministry?”

Lucius stopped, then slowly turned back to her. “How do you know about that?” he asked sharply.

“Severus Snape spoke to me yesterday,” she said, hand up and gripping the edge of the crib. “Is that a problem?”

“Of course not,” he turned back with a jerk, pulling his gloves from the wardrobe and pulling them on. “The Dark Lord never said you could no longer be informed.”

“So you are attacking the ministry?”

“Yes, Narcissa, yes. I’m attacking the bloody ministry, and I’m leading the others.” He slid his wand back into its casing in the walking stick. Narcissa looked at the emerald eyes as they flashed.

"Why now?"

"I don't know. The Dark Lord gives orders and I follow them. He has a plan."

"Don't go. Please."

"I have to."

“I'm begging you. For me. Don't go."

"I'm going for you."

Narcissa looked into his face. "There's something else."

“Oh?” he planted the walking stick on the ground and faced her with his other first on his hip. “And what is that?”

“How many are you going to kill?”

“However many it takes, Narcissa,” His lips flattened into a grim line. “That’s how it’s always been.”

Narcissa’s heart pounded against her ribcage. “May I make a request?” He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t kill more than you need to. Let the others do it.”

Lucius laughed and the sound shredded her. “Narcissa, are you showing concern for them? Muggles, half-bloods, mudbloods, and blood traitors, the lot of them.”

“I know,” said Narcissa. Lucius didn’t seem to have heard her.

“Casualties of war – it’s necessary for our victory.”

“I know,” repeated Narcissa. “I’m not worried about them, I’m worried about you.”

“I’m doing this _for_ you, Narcissa!” Lucius growled. “Show a little gratitude! When this is over, the Malfoys will not just be one of the most powerful families in the magical community of Britain. We’ll be the most powerful family in all communities of the world.”

“I know,” said Narcissa softly.

Lucius exploded. “ _Then what is your complaint?_ ” he bellowed, and Draco began to cry. Narcissa gripped the crib more tightly and looked up at him through an angry blur.

“ _The Potters,_ _”_ she spat.

“The—” the anger in Lucius’s face was partially replaced by bewilderment. “The _Potters_? What are the Potters to you? They’re Order members.”

“Oh, are they?” Narcissa stood. “All three of them? Their son?”

“What’s their son to you?”

“What’s—” Narcissa choked. “He’s going to kill him, _that_ _’s_ my concern, Lucius! A child! He’s going to kill their child!”

A thundercloud descended over Lucius’s face again. He lifted his walking stick off the ground, threw it to his other hand and advanced on her. She stood her ground. “Their son is the last piece standing between victory and defeat, Narcissa. The prophecy—”

“Their _child_ , Lucius.”

“What’s the half-blood to you?”

Hot tears spilled from Narcissa’s eyes. She was too angry to stop them. “He’s nothing to me, he’s everything to them, and you’re everything to _me_.”

“And you to me, Dear,” said Lucius dryly.

Narcissa clenched her fists at her sides. “Am I?"

"I don't understand why you are so upset. We don't even know where the Potters are. Your cousin is their Secret Keeper and he's been missing for months."

"Stop it," Narcissa pleaded. "Please."

Lucius’s eyes glittered. “Stop what?”

“Being—”

“Powerful?” interrupted Lucius with a self-satisfied cold smile.  “Wealthy? Respected? Feared? Confident—”

“ _Bloodthirsty_.” Narcissa shouted.  “You would stand by and let him murder an innocent child and you would enjoy it!” Her hands shook. Her rage was building.

Lucius let out a wordless roar and raised his cane, towering over her. Draco screamed. She snaped. Narcissa Black Malfoy slapped her husband as hard as she could. Her palm felt cold, and then it began to burn furiously. Lucius stood without moving, his head turned to the side. Then he lowered the walking stick and stepped back. “What would you have me do?” he asked in a more calm tone. “Quit?”

And there was the hopelessness, crashing back over her. He couldn’t quit, and they both knew it. She was still angry. She wanted to hit him again. She wanted to pound against his chest with her fists. She wanted to cling to him and sob against his shoulder. She wanted him throw his walking stick to the side, throw her on the bed, and make love to her right then and there.

“No,” she said, suddenly exhausted. The room whirled and she put her hand back on the crib to steady herself.

“Then I need to go,” said Lucius. He pulled out his wand, swept the mask across his face, and left the room.

Narcissa slowly sat back down and put her face in her hands. But only for a moment, because Draco continued to wail, so she pulled him out and held him until he quieted, and she sat quietly thinking.

*

Night fell. Narcissa sat with her hands in her lap, waiting and astonishingly calm.

And several hours later, an audible crack swept through the house—evidence of a very sloppy Apparition. She jumped to her feet and ran into the hall, then stopped dead and shivered as blood drained from her face. Antonin Dolohov emerged from the closet and swayed on his feet, unnamable fluids splattered over his robes.

“What happened?” she forced out through stiff lips. She spotted Dobby peeking around the corner with wide eyes.

Dolohov looked at her with wide eyes. “ _He_ _’s_ dead, I swear it, I know it, I promise it, and we’re—we’ve—”

“Where’s Lucius?” She spoke through a wave of nausea. “Where is he?”

“Fighting,” said Dolohov, and he doubled over, spitting blood. Narcissa backed away and bumped into a house-elf. "I barely got out."

“Dobby,” she said. “Go to Draco. Stay with him. If you hear anybody come into this house and it is not me or Lucius, you take him and you Disapparate. Anywhere. Find us. Do you understand me? You do not leave him for anything.”

“Narcissa,” gasped Dolohov. “You can’t go—not a Death Eater, you’re not—”

“I am tonight,” said Narcissa. Then she pointed at him. “You have thirty minutes to get out. You are not welcome in this manor."

The whites of his eyes stood out in his grimy face. "Narcissa—you can't—need help—be selfish now—"

"My family is in danger," Narcissa said coldly. "I am being exceedingly generous. Tell Fenty to see that he leaves," she ordered Dobby, meaning the kitchen house-elf. Then she fled back to her bedroom, put a cloak over her blue sequined dress (Merlin's beard, she should have thought to change) and conjured a mask. She summoned a broomstick, ran to the closet, and Disapparated. 


	8. Chapter 8

**PART 3 (continued)**

She appeared on a deserted street on the edge of London. The night was silent. Clouds covered the moon. Narcissa mounted her broom and shot across down, flying low over buildings, swerving down streets, headed towards the heart of London. She considered zig-zagging in case anyone was following her, but she didn't do it. Speed was of the essence. She had to find Lucius.

As she approached the Muggle street of Whitehall—the location of the entrance to the Ministry of Magic—she left the broom in an alley and proceeded on foot, wand drawn. She had not gone far before someone called out to her.

"Who goes there? Madam!"

Narissa spun around, wand raised. It was not a wizard. It was two Muggle foot soldiers. Had the Muggle Prime Minister been alerted about what was happening?

Narcissa did not have time for this. "Stupefy. Obliviate." She left them on the ground. Not the most clandestine way to break into the ministry, but she didn't care. She had to find Lucius.

“HOLD RIGHT THERE!"

Narcissa spun and deflected a spell that knocked her to the ground. She kicked out at her attacker’s feet, tasting blood, and in a blur of blinding, desperate flashes she left him on the ground. Running. A fleeing wizard. Trying to remember where in the dark she could find an entrance. The night was still silent, but the hairs raised on her arms. The air crackled with magic. As if from very far off, she heard someone scream. Narcissa hesitated in a dark alley, gasping for breath. Her wand hand shook, then threw herself into the street, running pell-mell for a telephone booth. She heard shouts, threw curses in their general direction, and jumped into the booth. Not waiting for it to descend, she pointed her wand at the ground and screamed, _“Bombarda!_ _”_

She fell through the ceiling of ministry in an explosion of glass and smoke, falling into more debris and smoke. She landed hard on the ground, and heard rather than felt her knee cracking against the marble floor. She staggered to her feet and stood, petrified, on the spot.

People ran in every direction. There were shouts and orders, curses and screaming. Smoke. Flashes of light.

She wiped blood from her mouth and began to run, again, ducking under deflected spells, jumping over bodies, and ignoring every fight as she looked for the form that she knew so well.

“Lucius!” she screamed. “ _Lucius!_ ”

A spell came from nowhere and it blew her into the wall. Her head spun and the room turned upside down. She pressed a hand to her side. A man she dimly recognized as Fabian Prewett stepped out of the smoke and raised his wand again. Narcissa sucked in her breath. A wind rushed through the room and the smoke cleared and – _there was Lucius._ On the ground. And in front of him, Frank Longbottom.

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” Narcissa was on her feet and spitting out spells quicker than she could think of them, instinct taking over, distant memories from Hogwarts, things she had practiced with Evan Rosier. Prewett fell over backwards and she ran, tripping over her own skirts.

_Don't you touch my husband!_

Lucius’s mask was gone and his wand flew from his hand and raised a hand to his face. A flash of clear blue light and he collapsed.

Narcissa screamed. “ _Bombarda_!” It was an unusual spell to use in this situation, but it did the job. The floor at his feet exploded; Longbottom’s clothes burst into flames and he dropped to the ground. Narcissa snatched up Lucius’s wand. Water splashed into her legs.

_“Expulso!_ _”_

She whirled around, holding up both wands. They blocked the curse but it ricocheted, blowing her backwards and smashing into the ceiling. She collapsed to the ground, holding her arms over her head as stones from the ceiling thudded to the ground around her. One rolled over her leg. _Wingerdium leviosa_ _—_ she barely stopped another from crushing her and flung it back at her attackers. Alice Longbottom – where had she come from?? – dodged and ran to her husband, helping him up. Fabian Prewett advanced towards her, as did Frank and Alice. Narcissa breathed hard. She tried to stand only to collapse again, pain spiraling up her calf. She bit her tongue.

_Lucius was unconscious on the ground behind her._

The Order members spread out, one on either side of her. Narcissa, seeing sparks exploding from the pain in her leg, forced herself up. She stood trembling and spread her hands, one wand in each hand, waiting, adrenaline drowning out any sense of fear.

A shrill scream pieced the room and someone leapt out of the smoke. _“Crucio!_ ” Fabian Prewett screamed and Frank Longbottom darted towards him and Alice grabbed at her husband to stop him and the figure shoved all three backwards.

_Bella._

Then Rodolphus appeared, running after Bellatrix.

Narcissa dropped to her knees and grabbed her husband’s shoulder. “Lucius?” She shook him. “Lucius! _Rennervate!_ ”

He stirred and opened his eyes, then started up into a sitting position, staring blankly at her. She waved away the mask and he seized her shoulder. “ _Narcissa?_ What are you doing here?” he glanced at the chaos. “You have to leave! Now!”

“It’s over, he’s dead,” said Narcissa. “Leave with me. Now.” He looked around the room once more. "They've seen your face!" Narcissa pleaded. "They will come for us! For both of us – for Draco!"

Lucius's face hardened. He nodded and got to his feet, pulling her up with him. She handed him his wand and they both ducked into the shadows. Narcissa felt a brief moment of panic; had Lucius's wand's allegiance changed? He'd been disarmed—

The doubt left as Lucius sent a witch hurtling across the Improper Use of Magic Office's secretary desk. But, leaving was easier said than done. The anti-apparition spells were holding. Lucius conjured a new mask and he led the way as they charged through the hall, fighting to find an exit – but the ministry was in lockdown. There were no exits to be found.

Lucius, his hand firm on Narcissa's arm, pulled her behind a column. "The Minister's office."

"What?" Narcissa gasped.

"We may be able to get out through the Minister's fireplace, if she's not changed its password since Rookwood told me what it was." Millicent Bagnold did not trust Lucius; she did not tell him herself.  

"But…we need the lifts…"

"I know," Lucius peeked out from their hiding place. "Wait here." He threw himself back into the chaos.

Narcissa's legs were shaking. She leaned against the wall, wanting desperately to close her eyes or curl into a ball, but not daring to do either. She instead dared to glance out after Lucius, but he'd disappeared, and she ducked back into hiding. She should have gone with him. He could be dueling right now, he could be hurt already, he could be killed—

Lucius grabbed her hand. "Run."

They ran, diving through the crowd. They came to a lift. The gates were broken off their hinges; the lifts were dead and not moving, but Lucius didn't seem disturbed by this. There was a wizard by the lift. It was Fabian Prewett again. A jet of green light shot from Lucius's wand; he fell and didn't move.

Something grabbed Narcissa's foot and jerked her out of Lucius's grip. He roared; Narcissa's vision went briefly black. Then she shouted " _Bombarda!_ " and whatever had hold of her foot let go. Lucius pulled her back up, but more ministry officials were converging, driving them back from the lifts as she and Lucius stood back-to-back—

A path suddenly cleared, and a freckly youth screamed, "Go! Cissy, go!"

_Evan._

Lucius didn't hesitate. He bodily lifted Narcissa and threw her into the lift then sprang in after her. "Evan!" Narcissa shouted.

Lucius blocked her from exiting the lift. "We have to go!"

"We're not leaving Evan!"

Bellatrix was somewhere in the chaos. As was Rodolphus. Probably Snape, Rookwood, Travers, Rabastan, the others—god knew where—but they were not going to leave Rosier. She knocked Lucius's wand back as he lifted it to the lift's top. She held out her own wand. _"Stupefy! Stupefy! Protego!"_ Lucius's voice joined hers, but Evan looked back, made eye contact with Lucius, shook his head ever so slightly, and dove back into the chaos.

Then Lucius was pulling her back. "Locomotor!" The dead lift spun into the depths of the ministry.

Narcissa was shrieking, "He's a child, Lucius, we can't leave him, he's a child!"

Lucius spoke through gritted teeth. "I found him. He wanted to help get you out. He's of age. If he doesn't want to leave, that's his business."

"But we're leaving!"

"We have a family. He doesn't." The lift shuddered to a stop. Lucius pulled her out. Narcissa jerked away, furious.

"Unhand me!"

Lucius ignored her wishes; he dragged her, stumbling and crying out in rage and pain, to the minister's office. He blew the door off its hinges and went to the fireplace.

Narcissa gripped the mantle, looking at the hall where they'd come with her wand raised as Lucius knelt in front of it. "We're in lockdown, it won't be online."

"It has its own line," said Lucius simply. He tapped one of the bricks and pushed one of the fireplace's grating's prongs inwards. It let out a shrieking noise and a rush of ashy wind blew into the office, coating Lucius's mask. "Get in," he ordered. Narcissa obeyed and Lucius stepped in with her; he had to crouch slightly. He wrapped one arm around her, took a handful of powder, and spoke clearly the name of a pub in Wilkshire. They spun out of it, somewhat startling the late-night-drinkers (the fools, didn't they realize the world was coming to an end?), and left without a word. Lucius then Apparated them to Malfoy Manor.

 “We can’t stay here,” said Lucius immediately as they stumbled out of the closet. He gripped her hand and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Where’s Draco?” She gasped and held her side, her fingers finding for the first time the crumbling the burnt cloth that used to be a fold of her dress.

“Dobby!” Narcissa tried to shout, but her voice was snatched away by pain and she stumbled and would have fallen if Lucius hadn’t caught her.

“DOBBY!” roared Lucius, and the house-elf appeared with a crack, looking dwarfed by the squirming infant in his bony arms that was pulling relentlessly at his floppy ears and screaming. Lucius let go of Narcissa’s hand to take the child. “Stay in this house, do not let anyone in, and refuse to speak should anyone come knocking,” he ordered, then he pressed Narcissa to him and they went back to the closet and Apparated again.

Narcissa stumbled in the dark. “Where are we?”

Lucius held her close; Draco wailed. His voice was soft. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she gasped, knees trembling, her side in flames.

Her ankle knocked against something; Lucius lowered her onto it. His wand lit up. Holding it and Draco in one arm, he passed his hand over Narcissa’s side. She leaned back and gasped, gripping the dusty-feeling arm of the chair she sat it.

“Merlin’s beard,” whispered Lucius. “ _Damn_ it, Narcissa, why did you come—damn it, I should have stayed—he’s dead? Are you sure? _Damn it._ ” He continued to mutter curses but Narcissa stopped listening, feeling instead his touch on her hand, seeing the gentleness in his worried and frantic expression that flickered in the wandlight, and feeling the gradual diminishing of pain. A wave of exhaustion crashed over her and she shuddered.

“Draco,” she said.

“He’ll be fine.” Lucius smoothed her hair. “Never Apparated before and now he's done it twice in a row, poor boy. Go to sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

She didn’t have the strength to disobey. She fell asleep almost immediately.

*

Narcissa woke to sunlight shining in through grimy windows and even grimier shades. Lucius was standing at one, peering out through a window shade slat, a sleeping Draco propped against his shoulder. Narcissa sat up; she had slept on an old yellow couch.

“Where are we?” she whispered.

“Abandoned Muggle house. Shawbury,” said Lucius, turning away from the window. “I saw it on the way to a meeting once.” He walked over and knelt in front of her. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine." Narcissa reached out and brushed Draco’s head. Lucius looked worse this morning than he had last night. There were thin cuts across his face, circles under his eyes, and he was covered in grime and blood and something green. “You should rest now.”

Lucius shook his head. “No, Love, I have to go.”

“ _No._ ” Narcissa gripped his arm. “No, you can’t! They know who you are – they have evidence – you were _seen_ – ”

“I’m not going to stroll into the ministry,” Lucius said quietly. "I'll be all right." He put his hand to Draco’s head and gently pried him off. Draco sneezed and blinked sleepily. Narcissa automatically took him, holding him to her own shoulder. "I have to know where we stand. I have to know what's going on.”

Draco began to cry. Narcissa clutched him to her. “Is he really dead?”

Lucius frowned slightly. “You sounded convinced enough last night.”

“It's what Dolohov told me.”

Lucius looked into her eyes for a few moments. Then, wordlessly, he looked down and pulled back the sleeve on his left arm. The mark had faded to red. Narcissa unconsciously squeezed Draco, making him squall louder.

Narcissa felt dizzy. “Oh, Lucius,” she whispered, one hand falling to rest against his. He gripped it tight and leaned close to her.

“We’ll be all right,” he said softly. He pressed a kiss to her cheek and to the crown of Draco’s head and got to his feet.

“Don’t go,” said Narcissa weakly. He gave her a flickering smile and Disapparated.

Draco was hungry. Narcissa deeply regretted weaning him after his first birthday now. “I’m sorry,” she said tremblingly as she searched the house for something – anything – edible that she could transfigure to something he could stomach. “I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t see this coming. I’m sorry. I’m _sorry._ ” The house was empty except for a mouse’s skeleton and five dead cockroaches in one cabinet.

She paced the empty house, singing softly to Draco. He slept fitfully, crying most of the rest of the time, and she cast multiple Muffliato charms out of alarm. It grew dark. Narcissa felt faint from hunger herself (she’d found a spigot that still spit water, so there was that), but she hardly noticed.

“Lucius—come back—you foolish, foolish man—come back—don’t be a hero—just come back— _please_ —oh, Merlin—”

She paced in circles around the old yellow couch, trying to keep Draco quiet by letting him attempt to nurse on a dry breast. He kept biting her, but she bore the pain—she deserved it. Her child was hungry and she couldn't feed him. Fears, despite her best efforts to keep them at bay, continued to crowd in. Lucius, caught—Lucius, in Azkaban—Lucius, killed by Aurors—Lucius, attacked and left for dead

_Crack!_

Narcissa spun around and, without being aware she was going to do it, burst into tears and flung herself at Lucius. He caught her and held her while she pressed her forehead against his neck and struggled to stem the flow of tears.

“It’s all right, Love, I’m fine, we’re all right, we’re all right…” Lucius stroked and kissed her hair, then pulled her head up and kissed her lips and her jaw and her neck. “We’re all right, we’re going to be fine. Here,” He pulled away and unslung a bag from his shoulder. “I’ve brought food.”

Narcissa scrubbed away her tears and took a breath, gathering herself. “Where did you get it?”

“Never you mind.”

Narcissa gave Draco to Lucius (predictably, he began to wail), covered herself again, and tore open the bag. Lucius sat down heavily on the floor with his head bowed. He’d nicked a variety of foodstuffs, from raw potatoes to several handfuls of chocolate frogs. Narcissa frowned, and forced herself to be creative.

“Thank Merlin transfiguration was my best subject,” she said lightly a few moments later, presenting Lucius with a cold roast beef sandwich. He glanced at her, then made a heavy shooing motion.

“You eat. Feed Draco. I’m fine.”

Narcissa frowned. She obediently took Draco from Lucius, but shoved the sandwich into his unwilling palm. “Don’t make me force you,” she said threateningly, seating herself on the ground across from him. Lucius didn’t protest again. Narcissa fed the extraordinarily eager Draco, who immediately fell asleep once his belly was full, and then she ate herself. When she finished Lucius was leaning against the yellow couch, elbows propped on his drawn-up knees, staring into space. It looked like he’d taken all of one bite.

Narcissa set Draco down in a small nest of relatively clean blankets she’d found in an upper room and scooted across to sit beside Lucius. She put her arm around him and pressed her lips to his temple.

Lucius stirred. “We were so sure,” he whispered.

“I know, darling.”

“We were so _sure._ ”

She said nothing. She drew Lucius’s head to her shoulder and he leaned against her. “We’re all scattered,” he said finally. “I tried to find Bellatrix, but she’s disappeared. So has Rodolphus. I found Dolohov cowering in our cellar—”

“Damn him!” Narcissa burst out. “I told him to leave! Dobby was supposed to make sure!”

Lucius growled. “We’ll deal with the house-elf later. As for Dolohov, I encouraged him with a few curses to get out. I sealed the manor and left it. We’ll have to walk in when we return, no Apparating. But no Order members should be able to get in either without significant effort. Dolohov told me that the LeStranges were last seen with Crouch. Don’t know where they’ve got to.”

“That’s good, I suppose,” said Narcissa thoughtfully. “That means the ministry doesn’t know either.”

“Mmm.” A pause. “We were so _sure_ …”

Narcissa plucked the uneaten sandwich from his hand and placed it to the side on a clean(ish) blanket. She ran her fingers along his jaw, feeling stubble and exhaustion pricking her fingertips. She turned his face towards her and kissed him. He returned the kiss, holding her neck. Narcissa pulled her skirts up and out of the way and straddled his legs and kissed him again, then pulled back and studied his face, asking a silent question.

Lucius looked at her, disbelieving. "Now?"

She could feel his arousal despite his disappointment and grief. "Now," she said gently.

"Draco."

"He sleeps like a drunk mountain troll when he's full."

They made love slowly and quietly, and when they were finished Narcissa made Lucius eat. He slept afterwards, stretched out beside their son, pillowing his head on his arm. She watched the two of them sleep. A slow anger rose up in her. Her husband and her son, sleeping on the ground. On the filthy ground, in a filthy Muggle house, in a filthy Muggle district – outcasts, eating picnics transfigured from potatoes and chocolate frogs – them, the _Malfoys_ –

She grew angrier with each passing minute and began to Scourgify dust and grime. She almost violently wrung the dust out of a moldy-looking blanket, then yanked the mold away, and then covered her husband with it. _Damn_ the ministry, _damn_ Voldemort, _damn_ everybody!

*

The next three weeks passed nightmarishly. Only Draco seemed to be enjoying himself, taking in his new surroundings and relishing in the 24-hour attention showered on him by both his parents. Somehow, it became more easy to share in his joy the more nervous they became—they had to stop themselves from giggling too loudly when Draco did something fabulously funny, like biting Lucius's nose or belching on Narcissa's shoulder. Lucius still went out much oftener than Narcissa would like, but he came back more and more quickly each time, with a shake of his head. Neither one knew what they were waiting for. A sign, an idea, a hope – something –

They both were beginning to get an idea of what they would have to do, but neither had found the courage to face it.

*

Lucius discovered that Draco was madly ticklish about his knees. He and Narcissa fought over the privilege of making him scream with laughter.

*

Narcissa ventured outside early one morning and stood on the porch, breathing deeply the free air. The house stood a little apart from all others, perhaps because of its ramshackle appearance. Lucius had slipped away an hour before. As she looked up at the dim sky, she caught sight of a swooping shape. Narcissa thought quickly, weighted the benefits and the consequences, and then raised her wand and killed the owl. It fell like a stone to the ground, on the driveway of the house. She hurried out, picked up the dead animal, and brought it inside. She extracted the Daily Prophet from the tubing on the owl’s leg and opened it. She let out a cry of pain.

*

Lucius came back when the sun was bright. Narcissa accosted him.

“Don’t you do that!” Narcissa gripped Lucius’s arm. Her hair hung about her shoulders, tangled and wild. Her eyes burned a puffy red, her lip trembled, traces of old tears were on her cheeks. Scattered on the floor, the newspaper silently replayed over and over Bellatrix’s scream. _“Throw us into Azkaban, we will wait! The Dark Lord will rise again and will come for us_ _—we alone were faithful_ _—we alone tried to find him!_ _”_

 “Don’t you dare do that. You were Imperiused, do you understand me?” She lifted one hand and put it against his cheek. “We were Imperiused.”

“My dear, what…” Lucius held her, and looked at the newspaper. Then he slowly understood, and he looked at his wife in amazement. “Love, did you think I was so loyal to one man that I would willingly abandon my wife and child to go to prison for him?”

*

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy appeared with their son in their arms at the Ministry of Magic three weeks and two days after the Dark Lord had fallen. Lucius was a wanted man; within minutes, they had been torn apart, Narcissa clutching her baby and escorted to a room where an Auror stood guard outside, Lucius escorted to the miniature-Azkaban prison that had been set up in the Department of Mysteries.

The news speculated greatly about what they were thinking; neither of them said a word, neither of them protested. They had merely pressed their hands together and stolen a kiss, looking over their shoulders at each other with calm and grim faces. They ignored the camera flashes; they ignored the questions flung at their backs.

"Mrs. Malfoy," an Auror met her in her room and spoke not unkindly. "You are accused of fighting against the ministry for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, both by manner of sabotage and on the night of the Battle of the Ministry itself. I may be able to help you, but you need to explain to me what happened."

"I appreciate your concern," answered Narcissa softly, swaying back and forth to put Draco to sleep. "I will wait for the Wizengamot hearing."

"But Mrs. Malfoy—"

"I will wait for the hearing."

Lucius's was first, and almost immediate. He, of course, had been seen at the ministry. Narcissa, of course, was told nothing about the results of his hearing. But he was kept apart from her. Narcissa was permitted the use of Dobby, and Dobby was permitted to bring her some supplies from the manor.

Narcissa's hearing came a few days later. They had to pass doors outside of which Dementors lurked; she shivered.

_Lucius was somewhere in there._

_Merlin help us._

She gave Draco to Dobby to look after, but she quietly asked that he be permitted to sit in one corner of the room. Then she went calmly to the center and sat in front of the Tribunal. She was not chained.

"Mrs. Malfoy," Millicent Bagnold looked down on her with a neutral expression. "You have been accused of aiding and abetting He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and of harming the Witches and Wizards who defended the Ministry of Magic on the evening of October the 31st. Do you have anything to say in your defense?"

Narcissa bowed her head. "I must confess that such reports are accurate, Minister." Murmurs in the chamber—but not loud ones. Lucius would have already said the same thing. "My husband and myself were both forced to perform several regrettable actions."

"You say you were forced?" said Bagnold, still sounding neutral.

"Yes, Minister. By means of the Imperius Curse."

"Can you tell us who you believe cursed you?"

"I'm afraid I don't know, Minister." Narcissa looked back up at the Wizengamot. "I was frequently in contact with many members of the ministry and I visited constantly with various acquaintances, including those rumored to be in league with You-Know-Who. Any one of them could have done it."

"So you do not remember the moment from which you claim you were Imperiused?" Bagnold sounded incredulous, and annoyed. She had doubtless heard multiple claims before.

"No, Minister."

"How long do you claim to have been under the Imperius Curse?"

"I can make no such claim," said Narcissa quietly. "It becomes rather confused. I would say at least six months, perhaps longer."

Bagnold's voice grew louder. "And when did the curse supposedly break?"

"October 31st," said Narcissa, looking into the faces of the Wizengamot—many of which she had had tea with. Many of them looked away, or met her eyes with sad and sympathetic expressions. Narcissa allowed her voice to raise as well. "In the ministry."

"How convenient! On the very night that many of You-Know-Who's army died—the night that You-Know-Who himself was destroyed—is the night your curse was lifted, so we have no way of knowing which one of them supposedly cursed you. And yet," Bagnold's voice echoed throughout the chamber. "You and your husband flee your manor and hide for upwards of three weeks, you lock down your manor, and you will not allow Aurors in even as we speak. Tell me, Mrs. Malfoy, are those the actions of the innocent?"

Narcissa's eyes blazed. She put her hands on the arms of the chair as if to stand. "We were Imperiused!" She cried. "For _six months_ , at least! We come to our senses in the middle of a battle, we realize what we have been forced to do—" Draco, at the sound of her agitated voice, began to cry. His whimpers echoed throughout the suddenly deadly silent chamber. "—we had a young son! Of _course_ we ran! We were terrified!"

"For three weeks?" Bagnold was relentless. Narcissa's heart pounded and she began to genuinely become angry.

"We were terrified!" she repeated, all but shouting herself. "We could hardly remember where we'd been, what was going on, except that we were forced against our bidding to do terrible things—except that we can remember being in _HIS_ presence, except that he forced his hideous mark onto my husband's arm—have you ever been Imperiused, Minister? Have you ever been forced to turn Spy against your own friends, your own family? Have you ever been forced to do so for _six months_?"

Draco was truly screaming now.

"We were not thinking about being guilty or being innocent. We were not thinking about how best to save our own skins in a trial in front of the people we had been forced to betray. We were fleeing a battle. We were trying to protect our son."

One of the Wizengamot members that Narcissa did not recognize jumped to his feet. "Elders and judges, I protest!" He proclaimed boldly. "This woman is attempting to manipulate our emotions by having her child in the room. I request that he be removed!"

"No!" Narcissa said immediately.

"Silence," said Bagnold. Narcissa breathed heavily. "This is a reasonable request. He is disrupting the proceedings."

"He's a child!" Narcissa protested.

"Tinflee," called Bagnold. A guard by the door stepped forward. "Please escort the house-elf and the child out."

"No!" Real fear struck at Narcissa's heart; she was no longer acting. "Minister, please."

Bagnold eyed her sharply and with some confusion. "Mrs. Malfoy, I assure you, your son will be well looked after. Your house-elf will continue to care for him."

"No," Narcissa repeated. She stood from the chair. "Do not send him from my presence, I beg you."

Bagnold's sharpness faded and there was a flicker of sympathy in her eyes. Narcissa wondered if she had children of her own. She had never thought to look this up. "Mrs. Malfoy, Tinflee will remained with him as an armed guard. You have nothing to fear."

"Do I not?" Narcissa looked frantically at her and at the rest of the Wizengamot. "You can promise we are not surrounded by imposters at this very moment? You can assure me that no-one is planning a destructive attack on this very room? You can tell me that I may be a traitor, but it's absolutely certain that no one else in this building is?"

The sympathy in Bagnold's face was growing. "I'm afraid your son can not be permitted to stay," she said, almost gently. "But he can be delivered to your husband. Would that be acceptable?"

Relief poured into Narcissa; she allowed it to show in her face. "Yes, Minister, that would be acceptable. But – Lucius is being held with Dementors." At the thought, unbidden tears came into her eyes.

Bagnold gave her a comforting smile. And even through Narcissa's real distress, she felt extraordinarily smug and triumphant—Lucius had won the last minister. She was winning this one. "That will be taken care of. Tinflee?" Tinflee escorted Dobby and Draco from the room. "Please, Mrs. Malfoy, if you will resume your seat."

Narcissa sat down. The atmosphere in the room had dramatically changed; the man who had protested Draco's presence looked like he wished he hadn't said anything. Narcissa couldn't resist making eye contact with him. He looked back, clearly disgruntled. _Thank you._ He had practically swayed the Wizengamot to her side single-handedly.

The session only lasted a few more minutes. No vote was taken, but as Narcissa walked out at the end of the session, many Wizengamot members followed her and murmured clandestinely in her ear, _Don't worry, Narcissa, we'll get this sorted. You poor dear, are you all right?_

And it only got worse.

*

Narcissa was furious. They had given Draco to Lucius, yes, but Tinflee—the sodding idiot—had done nothing about the Dementors.

Narcissa left her designated holding room, clutching her son to her breast, her hair flying about her face, screaming for a ministry official. Her Auror escort didn't even try to stop her; he just followed her with a _someone's-gonna-get-it-but-it-won't-be-me_ look on his face. She accosted the first secretary she came upon, and it was in the middle of a room crowded full of workers.

"I DEMAND TO SEE THE HEAD AUROR!" Narcissa shrieked, creating a scene. "YOU SADISTIC, CARELESS FOOLS—YOU LOCKED MY BABY UP WITH DEMENTORS!" She was horrified, she was furious, and she was out for blood. And Narcissa Black Malfoy—when we went for blood, there would be blood. She caused a scene not just because that was what would get things done, but because she couldn't contain herself. Draco was clutching at her. "I WILL HAVE YOUR HEADS!" Narcissa screamed, bursting into another room where there were reporters. Camera flashes started immediately, they all asked her what was wrong. "I demand indemnity for my son!" Narcissa shouted. "I can understand why the ministry must investigate me and my husband—but what have they got against my son? He's only a child! To lock a child up with Dementors—"

A frantic man emerged from the crowd, tried to quiet her. "Mrs. Malfoy, why don't you come with me, we'll get this sorted—" She pulled away from him and stood dignified, her hair still loose and flowing about her like a royal veil, and sending furious looks at the reporters. "Tell me," she demanded. "How is this justice?"

She eventually, after more shouting and righteous tears, allowed him to usher her into a small private office. "Mrs. Malfoy, I assure you, Dementors were only at the doors as a precaution, they will have been at least ten feet away—"

"Ten feet away!" Narcissa rocked Draco, who was still clinging to her. "Tell me, how does a child deserve a Dementor to be ten feet away from him?"

"Precautions—" said the secretary weakly.

"I will have your heads!" Narcissa shouted.  Draco, at last, seemed to have gotten over his shock of his mother shouting so furiously, and he started to cry again. "I will have your job – I will have your entire _Department_ if you don't make this right!"

She had no idea who this man was or for which department he looked, but the poor fellow looked petrified. She couldn't care less. "All right, Mrs. Malfoy," he said soothingly. "We'll get it sorted out. I'll discover exactly who was behind this, today, this very moment. Why don't you come with me?"

*

This new scandal hit the papers and exploded. Confusion was thrown into the Malfoy hearings. It postponed any decisions as they dealt with this new snag. But Narcissa didn't care, for two reasons. First, and less importantly, Minister Bagnold seemed almost as furious as she was. (She definitely had children, Narcissa decided.) Second, and more importantly, Lucius was allowed to rejoin Narcissa in their temporary lodgings with an extra Auror as a guard outside their door. Narcissa had just put Draco down for a nap when he quietly slipped into the room.

" _Lucius!_ " She clung to him, and he to her. "You're so cold – pale—are you all right?"

"Well enough," said Lucius grimly, holding his wife. "I overheard something while they were leading me here. A rumor."

"What sort of rumor?"

"They're saying Severus Snape betrayed the Dark Lord. Albus Dumbledore is trying to prevent his being sent to Azkaban. They're saying he told Dumbledore of the plan to kill the Potters and turned spy against us. That he is the reason we lost that Giant battle next year, the reason the ministry knew we were coming that night."

Narcissa said nothing. She rested her head against Lucius's chest. He looked down at her.

"You don't seem surprised."

"I'm not." Narcissa played with the folds of his shift collar. "He was the one who told me about the battle, remember? He told me to not let you go." She also remembered, but said nothing about, the way Severus used to look at the now-deceased Lily Evans Potter.

"If it's true, I'll kill him."

"Lucius, he may have betrayed the Dark Lord, but he was trying to protect us as well. He helped you home when you were injured. He tried to keep us from harm at the Ministry. Please don't be angry with him."

She felt Lucius slowly relax. "For you, then," he said grudgingly. He looked over at Draco's sleeping form, and a silent fury filled his face. "Those bastards. They'll pay for this."

*

They did. Quite literally.

*

The _Daily Prophet's_ headline a week later blared:

**_Malfoys Awarded Compensation; All Charges Dropped._ **

*

They returned to their manor. Lucius was short-tempered for several weeks, and he seemed to decide to take it out on Dobby. Narcissa became good friends with the minister. As the world slowly got back to normal – as Lucius's mark slowly faded until it was a simple dull shade of pink – they both began to relax again. Lucius was losing the hungry, bloody look in his eye.

Narcissa spent multiple late nights weeping in relief.

_It's over._

Narcissa found a strange kinship with Severus Snape. She couldn't explain it—or perhaps she simply refused to explore the possibility that they were both relieved that the war had ended, and that the Dark Lord was gone.

"I am sorry," Severus said quietly to her. It was the day before Draco's second birthday, and he had come to tea on Narcissa's invitation. They sat in the drawing room with the drapes thrown back and the windows open.

"Don't be," Narcissa responded. "I understand. I know what you tried to do for us."

"I didn't know what was going to happen."

"None of us did."

They both watched Draco go tearing by, holding a streamer above his head and yelling some nonsense about trains, Muggles, and melting ice cream.

"Draco's never had a godfather," said Narcissa suddenly. "During the war, it just didn't seem—it was difficult to bring up that sort of subject. With anyone."

"That's understandable," said Severus.

"I trust you, Severus. Lucius doesn't understand why, but I trust you more than anyone except Lucius himself. I feel as though you are the brother I never had. Would you consider being Draco's godfather?"

Severus was silent for a long moment. "I'm honored you consider me to be so…trustworthy," he said, with a hint of bitterness. "But I don't believe I'm right for that position, Narcissa."

Narcissa swallowed her disappointment. "I understand, of course."

After another moment, Severus added, "However, if there is ever anything I can do, for you or for Draco…you need only to ask."

"Thank you, Severus."

"Mama! Look!" Draco was waving his hand above his head as he sat on the floor, clutching something that gleamed.

"He's got that new diamond bracelet of yours, my dear." Lucius appeared in the doorway. He leaned against the frame with his hand in his pockets, smiling.

The summer sun shone through the windows. The breeze played with Lucius's hair.

Narcissa laughed.


End file.
